


Love on the Line

by twistedchick



Series: Lovers and Other Strangers [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Amanda Darieux - Freeform, Duncan MacLeod - Freeform, F/M, Highlander - Freeform, Joe Dawson - Freeform, Phone Sex, methos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:10:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the woman whose voice entrances Joe Dawson also a danger to his friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love on the Line

Joe Dawson never knew when she'd call, but he always hoped to hear her voice on the phone.

The calls came late at night, after he'd gotten home from the club. She never left a message on his answering machine if the gig he was playing ran late; she just called later. Sometimes she wouldn't phone for weeks, and he'd wonder if he'd said something that upset her. He wanted to call and find out, and apologize, but it was impossible.

He didn't even know her name, or her phone number. He was sure if he tried to find out for himself she'd never call again.

He only knew the sound of her voice, vibrant, musical and intimate.

This Saturday night, as he closed the door on a thunderstorm outside, he wished she'd call. It had been a slow night at the club, with a new band and not much business because of the weather. Duncan and Richie stopped by to hear the band, Arctic Blues, but only for a few minutes. Methos came up to the bar in his Adam Pierson persona for a moment to ask him about the new Watcher who was assigned to Amanda.

Joe found he had to think of Methos according to what character he was playing in order to keep from saying the wrong name at the wrong time. This time, just to be careful, they stepped into the storage room to talk while the band warmed up.

"So who is this woman? What happened to Amanda's old watcher?" Adam asked. He shut the door and leaned on it. "Did something happen to Lizbeth?" His tone was more irritable than Joe would ordinarily expect.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Lizbeth is fine, last I heard. She just asked for reassignment when she discovered she'd lost track of Amanda for more than six months. She found it embarrassing."

"Embarrassing! I should say so. And where was the good Amanda?"

Joe was leaning against a stack of cases of beer. He reached behind himself almost as a reflex, picked up a beer and handed it to Adam. "I don't know where the good Amanda was; the everyday Amanda apparently followed a white rabbit down a hole. What's your interest in this?"

Adam tipped up his beer for a long swallow. "Tell me the name of the new watcher and I'll tell you."

Joe looked at him quizzically. "Her name is Mariellen Smithe. She was in Research, working on the history of Emlyn of Caernarvon. Are you satisfied?"

Adam shook his head, confused. "Mariellen Smithe. Are you sure? I thought she was assigned to watch Connor."

"She was; he's settled down for a while and she wanted something more exciting."

"More exciting. Right. Did you have her inoculated for rabies and the plague during training? Considering who she's watching, she might as well be ready for anything."

"Oh, come off it, Adam. Amanda isn't likely to bite her watcher, and she bathes far too often to be carrying fleas." Joe looked down his nose at Adam, something only possible because the tall, thin man was sitting on the floor. "What's with you? Are you jealous?"

"Are you kidding? That woman leads a dangerous life. I don't want to have to be there to record it; it could be dangerous to my health." Adam stood, dropped the empty bottle in a crate, reached in a pocket and handed over a couple of dollars to pay for it. "Can't sponge off the Establishment during working hours." He started to open the door.

"Why all the concern?" Adam never inquired into the status of other Watchers unless it affected himself. Now he was acting as if he were worried, and hiding that emotion behind an intense irritability. When Adam closed the door and turned back toward him, Joe was sure of it.

"I've been hearing some rumors that the Watchers have been infiltrated by an Immortal." Adam's narrow face flushed, and for a moment the 5,000-year-old Methos looked out of his eyes. "Yes, I should know. But it's not me they're talking about."

"What do you care whether Mariellen's an Immortal or not? I'd think that's a perfect reason not to worry about her blowing your cover; you'd blow hers first."

"Right. Especially if she blows my cover by taking my head. Great thinking, Dawson." Adam leaned against the doorjamb. "I've also heard rumors that an old and powerful Immortal, probably a woman, is coming this direction, headhunting. Nobody's sure who it is -- she keeps to the shadows -- but whoever gets in her way turns up headless in an alley. I don't know why. I don't even know if it's me she's after, but it has me a little concerned. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm an adequate swordsman, but nothing like MacLeod. On a bad day I can't even beat Amanda, and that's pretty bad. If she's a strong fighter I don't stand a chance if I can't hide, and how can I hide when any Immortal within range can find me by the buzz?"

"And you think Mariellen might be this person? Or that this immortal you think is masquerading as a Watcher is the one hiding in alleys? I doubt it. Mariellen comes with the highest recommendations," Joe reminded him. "All the way from the top of Research, where she's been ever since grad school -- and yes, it was the right number of years ago. She has an excellent background, keen observation skills and a fine style of writing. In fact, Research was going to ask her to take over as a section head until she asked for the new assignment."

"For her sake, I hope you're right," Adam said. "But don't put too much stock in all those recommendations -- I've got them too. Every last one of them."

"What will you do if you find out she is an Immortal?"

Adam paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know. A lot will depend on whether she's someone I can talk to, someone I can trust. If she's not, there's a good chance that one of the Watchers may disappear, either me or her. I can't afford to lose my head over her." Adam's voice dropped. "And if it comes to that, I won't guarantee that I'll play by anyone's rules but my own."

He walked out of the storeroom, making up something about buying a couple of cases of Pete's Wicked Ale for a party in case anyone was listening, and left soon after.

Joe shook his head. Adam had lost his head when he fell in love with Alexa, quickly and completely, and now was seeing disaster in every corner. Alexa's early death, following so closely on the Highlander's Dark Quickening and the destruction of the Methuselah Stone, must still be hitting him too hard, even five years later. It took a long time for some mortals to recover from the loss of loved ones; how long must it take for those Immortals who may open themselves to love and trust only a few times in their long lives? Adam had retreated into a hard shell, trusting very few, and Joe sometimes despaired of seeing his friend happy again.

Joe thought of this again later as he opened the door to his house. He hung up his raincoat and stood his umbrella in a corner to drip on the linoleum. The elegant clock that Duncan had given him last Christmas, a reproduction of an early French original, struck three as he walked into the living room. He didn't feel like watching the late movie or listening to televised God-salesmen, or seeing a demonstration of the latest gizmo to peel a tomato and wax your floor at the same time. In fact, if anyone asked him what he really wanted, he would have said he wanted to curl up with a good warm woman and not get out of bed for a week. That hadn't happened in far too long. Since Lauren was killed seven years earlier he'd had a few light romances with women who came to the club, but nothing that he could say was earth-shaking. It had gotten so the only woman he really talked to, the only one he could share his feelings with, was the one on the phone.

Her first call, six months earlier, had made him a little wary; she could have been someone with a grudge setting him up as a target for who-knows-what. She'd phoned, asked for Joe Dawson, and complimented him on his music at the club on a night when he'd played for hours. He'd found her friendly and willing to be sympathetic when he wanted to talk about music and the difficulties of running a blues club. Gradually the calls had evolved into a more intimate kind of sharing, something he'd swear was honest on her side as well as his -- there was a connection at a deep level that he hadn't felt with another woman in years, if ever. It included trust and honesty and tenderness, and a certain amount of willingness to risk being open. It made him long to meet her but worry that he'd disappoint her if she saw him in person.

As he sat down and reached for the novel he'd been reading during the past week, the phone rang.

"Hello, Joe. What are you doing on this long wet night?"

It was the voice, the beautiful unknown voice. He felt the stress in his back starting to loosen as he listened to her.

"Thinking of you, darling. What are you wearing?"

"Hmmm. Nothing too heavy, or too hard to take off if you want. It's silver and green, and made of silk. How's that?"

He leaned back in his favorite armchair and closed his eyes.

"That's just fine. You know, I wish you'd tell me what your name is. I'd like to have something more to call you than the voice on the phone."

"Well, you've found me in a good mood tonight, so I might just tell you a name. It's not the only name I have, but Joe isn't the only name you have, so that would make us even. But first, what would you like to do?"

"I can think of a few things, but I don't think I want to do them while you're still wearing that silver and green thing."

"No? But it's soft and touchable, and I can feel your hands through it so well. You have strong hands, Joe, and such a gentle, sure touch." She said nothing for a short time but he heard fabric rustling. "All right, it's off. Now, what would you like to do?"

He breathed in sharply, let it out slowly and felt his heart speeding up just a little. "I'd start with what I could touch, and go on to what I could taste. I'd bet you taste sweet and salty, am I right?"

"Hmmmmm. And I think you'd taste a little more salty than I would. I want to find out what you taste like, Joe, one of these days."

"Then I'd want to see how far I could bring you with my tongue, and my fingers, and how far we could go together toward the stars."

"And I want to find out how you feel, with us wrapped around each other, after you and I reach those stars, Joe."

She hung up quietly, as usual. Telephonus interruptus. Somehow, he didn't mind. It was a lot better than being completely alone, even if he ended up with his hand as his lover again. He still had someone to think of, someone to dream about -- a woman in green and silver with the voice of a Stradivarius cello.

***

It wasn't until Tuesday that Nolan, Joe's section chief, brought Mariellen Smithe in to introduce her to her new supervisor. He showed her into the club's office, where Joe was balancing the books a little before opening time.

Mariellen's appearance surprised Joe. From her resume, he'd expected someone more worldly and capable than this shy creature in the dingy trenchcoat and nondescript dress. She looked like a stereotypical librarian, between 35 and 40 years old, with a pale face almost too unworldly to be real. She spoke in a quiet little whisper, nearly impossible for him to hear. All he could make out was something about it being an honor for her to meet him.

"The honor is all mine," he said gallantly. "Your supervisors have spoken highly of your work." Privately, he wondered how this quiet wallflower would ever keep up with one of the most flamboyant and active Immortals in the Chronicles. Perhaps the protective coloration of her drab clothing would keep Amanda from noticing her. "If there's ever anything I can do for you, let me know. And if you get into any trouble and you need backup, call me. I'll come myself or send someone if I can't."

She nodded behind her oversized glasses. "Yes, sir." Under the fluorescent lights her hair was practically colorless and twisted into a knot at the back of her neck, and her eyes were a pale sea-green, not lively enough to be peridot. She looked up at him and for a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of the keen observer described in her recommendations. Maybe Adam had reason to worry after all; there had to be more to this small woman than her appearance would suggest. Joe decided to look up her files himself and see if anything looked out of place. Immortals were good at disguises, but over time they could usually be discovered.

"Don't call me sir, it's Joe. Humor me for a moment, would you? There's a man standing over by the piano, on the far side of the room; take a look at him, just one look, and describe him to me."

She nodded and looked casually over her shoulder through the one-way glass. When she turned back to face Joe, she said, "The subject is male, exactly six feet tall, between 35 and 410 years old, with long dark hair, dark brown eyes, a black raincoat and very likely a Japanese katana hidden in it that he was given by his teacher during the 1790s. His name is Duncan MacLeod. Will there be anything else?"

So, the little wallflower has some thorns? Not a bad thing if she'll be following Amanda around the world. Not a good thing if she's after Methos's head.

"You've been studying the records. I'm impressed." Joe hadn't had the vaguest idea who was standing by the piano, but it wouldn't surprise him if it were Duncan. The Highlander had gotten some odd idea about learning to play an instrument lately, and had taken to looking at the instruments on the bandstand to see how they might feel. Joe knew it wouldn't last, but it might be less awkward to listen to Duncan practice than to have him go back to trying to make his own (quite illegal) single-malt Scotch again. He could always find something to praise in another's music, however poor it was, but he really couldn't tolerate bad whiskey.

Mariellen murmured something about needing to be able to identify Amanda's friends by sight. "Is there anything else?" she said, a trifle more audibly. He shook his head.

Nolan said, "I've gotten her a job as a courier, which should make it convenient to follow Amanda wherever she goes. Considering the MacLeod connection, though, would it be feasible for her to work here if Amanda stays in the area?"

Joe nodded. "I can always use another waitress. If that doesn't work out, we can find something else that will." He issued a silent prayer to whatever saint takes care of fools and bartenders -- don't let Methos fall in love with this one, too.

Mariellen nodded again, diffidently, and she and Nolan left the bar as the early happy hour crowd started to filter in. Mariellen ventured a quick glance toward Duncan as she left, but Duncan was so busy seeing how the different instruments felt in his hands that Joe thought he never even noticed her.

"Hello, Duncan. Are you thinking of taking up piano this time, or saxophone?"

The Highlander turned as Joe walked toward him. "Evening, Joseph. No, actually I was thinking more of drums. You don't have to tune them as much, and a lot of it seems to be speed and rhythm. That's not much different from martial arts."

Joe nodded sagely. "You do have to tune them, but that shouldn't be hard for you to learn. If you're serious, let me know; a friend of mine has started giving lessons and he's good. He's the one you'd want to learn from. Are you staying for dinner?"

"Thanks, Joe. No, I'm just stopping on the way by. Amanda's supposed to meet me here; we're going to the opening of the new play down at the Palace Theater. Would you like to come along? I'm sure we can get another ticket."

"Not this time, it's a work night. See you later." He had to wonder, as Duncan left, how much his frequent 'checking in' was for Duncan's benefit and how much for his own. Duncan had felt protective of Joe for several years, and Joe didn't know whether to feel comforted or annoyed most of the time. Damnit, he was old enough to do what he wanted and capable of looking after himself, even if he was growing older. Sometimes, though, on long nights when he was tired and feeling every minute of his age, he felt glad to have a trustworthy friend who'd never outgrow his perfect reflexes and swift reactions. But he'd never admit that to anyone, least of all to a certain MacLeod.

***

Joe brought Mariellen's files home with him that night. They looked exactly as they should have. They included college and grad student photos, a scratchy high school yearbook picture that looked like every other high school yearbook picture for the appropriate year. There were recommendations from every Watcher supervisor she'd ever worked for, all the way back to when she was first contacted.

Joe noticed that she was contacted because she had witnessed a Quickening, but that the identity of the Immortal who received the Quickening was not given. This was odd, but not totally irregular; if he took the time to cross-reference it with other Watchers' chronicles of the era he'd be sure to find out who it was. The beheading had apparently taken place during a bomb scare at her college when she was an undergraduate; the resulting lightning storm had occurred almost at the same time as the hidden bomb blew in a trash can in the next building. It was a total fluke that she'd seen the quickening at all, and she probably didn't get close enough to see the fight. She had seen the body, though, with its neatly cauterized neck wound. When she tried to lead the bomb squad police to it, couldn't find it again and was dismissed by the police as an hysterical crank, the local Watcher had contacted her and taken her under his wing.

So far, so good. Joe flipped back through the file to photos of her parents; this had become a requirement as soon as photography had become inexpensive nearly a century ago. There they were, with the same pale hair and eyes. He closed the folder, set it on his lap and sighed. If the documents weren't real, they were the best set of fakes he'd ever seen.

Should he run this past Duncan, who had arranged for more fake identification in 400 years than he could imagine? He really didn't want to involve Duncan in Watcher business. If it looked as if she really would be a problem, he might have to ask Duncan to help him but he shrank from doing it. He didn't want to involve Nolan or the other Watchers either, though, not when Methos was behaving so oddly. Calling any attention to people within his region would make Methos's cover as Adam Pierson even harder to maintain than it already was; Joe didn't want him to crack.

He sighed. Sometimes he felt like the father of them all, though nearly every one of the Immortals but Richie was old enough to be his own ancestor several times over.

The phone next to him rang.

"Hello, Joe. How are you tonight?"

"I'm just fine, darling. Maybe a little tired; it's been a long day. You know, you never did tell me your name."

"What we were doing pushed it right out of my mind. Do you still want to know? Is it that important?"

He hesitated. If he found out her name, would she ever call him again? "It would make me happy, darling. It's not fair that I don't have anything to call you." Her laugh rippled through the line. "All right. If you want to give me a name, you can think of me as Emmy. Now, I think I'd like to rub your shoulders tonight, and give you a massage you won't forget for a while. How does that sound?"

"I never forget what you do," he said, with perfect honesty. "I'm right here. Where do you want to start?"

"Hmm, you need a bath too, I think. I'll start here, with my tongue."

***

Joe was so busy minding the bar on Saturday night that he couldn't even look up to see who was coming in. He wished Mariellen was available to work as a waitress; his regular non-Watcher waitress had quit, and he couldn't get a replacement on short notice. When Adam walked in, he seemed like a gift from heaven.

"You're busier than a six-armed paperhanger, Joe. Do you want some help?"

Joe spared him one glance -- between pulling beers and pouring shots -- to see if he was serious. He was. "You're hired. I assume you've done this kind of thing before?"

"It's been a while, but I think I can manage." He picked up a waiting tray. "Where does this go?"

"Table in the corner. Thanks."

By the time Arctic Blues ended its break between sets, Adam had collected nearly $25 in tips from patrons impressed at the speed with which his thin legs wove between chairs. He never forgot who ordered which drink, he always remembered extra napkins and bowls of snack mix or pretzels, and he found time in the midst of it all to flirt just a little with the ladies in a way that didn't feel threatening to their boyfriends.

"I think you've done this before," Joe said, as Adam brought him an order for three Michelobs, four Heinekens, a rum-and-Coke and a highball from the table in the corner.

Adam nodded. "It's been a while. Tips are better now. And believe it or not, it's less crowded here."

"Less crowded than where?" Joe mixed the highball. Adam was definitely in grad student mode, convenient cynicism firmly in place. How was Methos feeling, behind that shell? He didn't dare ask.

"Globe Theater, London, during the first performance of 'Twelfth Night.'" Adam sipped the beer Joe had set aside for him. "Actually, working during 'Macbeth' a couple of years later was worse. Had to dodge too many claymores. People get enthusiastic about their entertainment. At least this bunch is unarmed -- mostly." He picked up the tray and headed back into the crowd.

"Looks like you've got a good crowd tonight," someone said. Joe looked up and saw Amanda standing across the bar from him. Next to her stood a woman a few inches shorter than Amanda, with her back to the bar. All he could see of her was a braid of blond hair tossed over her shoulder above a sage-green blouse.

"Amanda, it's good to see you. What can I get you?" Joe really liked her. If it weren't for his job as a Watcher, and for a certain MacLeod, he'd want to try to get to know her a lot better. He knew there was more to her than her light-hearted persona, and he'd seen it once or twice a few years ago, but that time seemed long past.

"Just the usual. Millie, what would you like?"

The other woman turned toward Amanda, and Joe's breath stopped. Millie had the clearest aquamarine eyes he'd ever seen, brilliant as jewels in the sun even in his dark club. He remembered to breathe eventually, but missed what she said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that," he said, his heart pounding.

She raised her voice just a trifle, to bring it above the noise of the crowd. "Jameson's Red, if you have it, please. Straight up." It was an ordinary voice, with a mild touch of brogue, hardly enough for anyone other than a musician to notice. He didn't think it matched her extraordinary looks at all.

"A lady with taste. Fortunately, I have a bottle of it here for you." He poured her a drink.

Millie took a sip, and nodded. "I'm impressed. I didn't think Ireland was exporting it."

"I have a friend who brings me a bottle of it now and then. It's too good to put above the bar; I keep it for the people who ask for it by name." Something about her seemed familiar; he had to ask the question. "Excuse me, but have we met before?"

"I don't think so," Millie said. Her eyes locked onto his, and he swallowed and hoped it didn't show under his beard. "I haven't been to the West Coast in a long time."

"Millie's a friend of mine from the Old Country," Amanda said, winking at him. "We haven't seen each other in years, so we're catching up on a lot of history." "I'll bet. Well, enjoy the show." Joe nodded toward a table that had emptied during the break. "I think you might be able to get a seat now."

"Thanks, Joe." Amanda smiled at him, and the two women went to sit down near the stage. Joe's eyes followed them, seeing how smoothly Millie moved through the dense crowd. A lot of Immortals had that kind of grace, he'd noticed over the years, as if they'd trained at a ballet barre and learned a dance that took them effortlessly through tight places.

Adam came to the bar with an order for two pitchers of draft, a bottle of Chablis and eight assorted sandwiches. "Who's that with Amanda?"

"She said it's her friend Millie, from the old country."

"Well, she does have a long lifeline, no doubt of that. I don't think I've met her before." As Adam looked at her, she turned and looked over her shoulder, staring straight into his eyes. He gulped, tripped over a chair and sat down hard on the floor. She turned back, saying something to Amanda, who shrugged and replied something else that he couldn't hear.

"You all right down there?" Joe leaned over the counter. Adam got to his feet, a look of chagrin on his face.

"Yeah. Fine." He shook his head briskly and dusted off the seat of his pants. "I'm fine." He shot a look back toward Millie, who was saying something to Amanda with evident animation. A stunned expression sat on his face.

Joe handed him the pitchers and the bottle. "Here's the drinks. Check with Terry in the kitchen for the sandwiches; I don't know what we have left and it's almost time for him to close down."

"Right." He shook his head again as if to clear it and sped off toward the kitchen.

***

"It's your turn tonight, Joe. What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to wrap my arms around you and hold onto you all night. Unfortunately, it's a little hard to do that on the phone."

"I'm sorry. I wish we could. I'd like that. But you know how I feel about us meeting in person."

"Why?" He couldn't figure it out. "We've been about as honest with each other as we could be, we talk about everything. Why should't we see each other?" Her voice was hesitant, quieter, for the first time he could recall. "I might not live up to your expectations."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You're a romantic, Joe. You see women as wonderful, and you love them, even when you think you're being hardheaded about it. You probably have all sorts of ideas of what I look like and how I move, and I don't want to disappoint you with reality."

"I'm willing to take the chance. Besides, you might be disappointed with me, too. You know I wear prostheses. I wouldn't be able to take you dancing too easily."

She drew in a breath. "The only dancing I'd like to do with you wouldn't require your feet. Besides, I do know what you look like, and I like it. I love that beard, and the way your hair tries to fall in your eyes, and your expression when you start to sing."

Joe swallowed hard. "Why don't you introduce yourself when you come to the club?"

"You're always so busy, and I don't want to interrupt. I'd rather just sit in the corner and watch. There were too many people around for me to take you away from them."

"As long as I'm not playing a gig, you could still take me away. Even if I were playing, I'd want to know you were there so I could sing to you." A thought crossed his mind, and his heart moved into his throat. "Or you could sing along with me -- we could sing together. I'm sure you've got a good singing voice, from the way you sound on the phone."

"I'm sorry, Joe, but I can't do that. There's a lot of reasons why. Thank you for thinking of it, though. That was sweet of you."

"Will I ever see you?" he said wistfully.

"I think so." The mischief came back into her voice. "Tell you what -- if you do recognize me when you find me, you'll win. I'll come home with you, we can do whatever you want, and if you want I'll even sing. But if you don't recognize me, we'll just keep talking on the phone."

"You won't go away or stop calling if I don't know you?"

"I won't go away. But I won't tell you when I'm coming to the club, either. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."

"All right. Supposing I do find you, what would you do if I call you Emmy and I'm right?"

"Well, I might start by nibbling on your ear, just a little, and then I'd put my hand on your shoulder and move it down your back..."

***

Adam drove up just as he left the club early Thursday afternoon, and rolled down the car window. "I've got some news for you."

"Sure. You can drop me off over at MacLeod's; he wants me to look at an antique guitar he says he found. I'm not sure there is any such thing." He climbed into the Volvo and they headed toward the dojo.

"This is a little more important than a guitar, I think." Adam was paying attention to the road, but he looked slantwise at Joe. "Two things. First, I checked out Mariellen, and unless she's got a better cover than I have she seems to be exactly what she claims to be -- except for one thing. She's pre-Immortal. Not someone I have to worry about yet, thank the gods. She may know about the Game from her Watcher training, but I think there's little risk of her coming after me."

Joe whistled under his breath. "Pre-Immortal. That could be quite a shock to a Watcher."

"You're not kidding. I keep picking up the smallest amount of buzz from her, not enough to tell me she's fully Immortal. It's not even as much as that pianist friend of MacLeod had before her first death. There's so little I doubt anyone but MacLeod might even notice it." Adam shrugged. "Either that, or she's a very good actor."

"Being a good Watcher requires a certain amount of acting ability, as you know." Joe and Adam exchanged ironic smiles. "What's the other thing?"

Adam shot Joe a glance as he shifted gears and changed lanes. "I'm still not comfortable with the idea of an unknown Immortal showing up from nowhere to hang out with Amanda. It's not safe for the rest of us, especially me."

"It's never bothered you before."

Adam pulled the car over to the curb and slammed on the brakes. "I wasn't worried about headhunters before either."

"You're still worried about that? Are you sure?"

Adam nodded. "I'm think I'm being stalked, and I don't like it a bit. I get phone calls at night that hang up when I answer, too often to be just wrong numbers. I feel as if someone's following me but I can't see anyone -- and I know it's not a Watcher, I know all the Watchers in Seacouver and most of the ones elsewhere. Besides, why would Watchers follow me unless they've found out who I am?"

That explained the tension in his voice, the look of wariness on his face. "Have you gotten any sleep in the last week?" Joe asked.

"No." Adam turned the car into an empty parking lot and put the brake on. "Oh, I've gotten catnaps, but nothing restful. Did I ever tell you how much I hate sleeping with a sword?"

"Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know. It could be Amanda's friend Millie. I can't find her in the records so far. It could be someone else we don't know about, or someone who's just come to town and accidentally noticed that I was Immortal, and decided to play cat-and-mouse games. It could be that unknown woman who's out headhunting."

"Amanda says she knows Millie from the past, and she has no reason to lie about that."

"That's no guarantee that Millie's a saint. Amanda's certainly not."

Adam's hands were clenched on the steering wheel so tightly the knuckles were white. He was staring at them as if he expected them to change into something unexpected.

"There used to be a few women named Millie, I think," Joe offered.

"There were several, but not any more." Adam's eyes didn't move, but Joe noticed him hunching his neck into the collar of his coat as if he felt a chill on the back of his neck. "Millicent of York, killed by Kalas in 1825. Mildred Carter, killed by Connor MacLeod after she beheaded one of his students two hundred years ago. Amelia di Costanza died in 1456 after an unfortunate encounter with Canis and his dogs. The only other one I've found is the Irishwoman, Milia, missing for centuries and presumed dead." He shrugged. "What do you think of that?"

"Maybe there are other possibilities, other names that use that nickname." Joe closed his eyes for a moment and saw those aquamarine eyes again, looking into his; it was a good thing he wasn't driving. "You know as well as anyone that Immortals don't often keep the same name through the centuries."

When Adam spoke again, it was with an effort. "Joe, it's taken me so long to want to stay alive after Alexa's death. I wasn't exactly careful that first year or so; anyone could have had my Quickening almost without a fight. Life is precious to me again now. I want to live, and I hate the idea that I'm being stalked."

"I don't blame you." Joe put a tentative hand on Adam's shoulder, feeling the tendons like corded cables even through the heavy coat. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. Maybe. Tell me any rumors you hear. Have you had any indication that something might be coming down? Anything odd that's happened."

Joe wondered if he should mention the phone calls from his unknown voice. They couldn't be connected with this. Why would someone call him to set up Adam? It didn't make sense.

"I can't think of a thing now, but you know if I do I'll tell you. I don't want to lose any more friends," Joe said.

"That's a good thing to know." Adam loosened his hands from the wheel, stretching his fingers and flexing them. Almost casually, he said, "You know, it's too bad Henry VIII used a headsman on all his enemies and some of his wives; we lost a lot of interesting future Immortals during his time. Sir Walter Raleigh, for one. Catherine Howard. Mad Tom Wyatt, Anne Boleyn's cousin. Lady Jane Grey, though not her Dudley husband." He started the car up again for the last few blocks to the dojo. "It's too bad. I've thought for a while that they'd have made good Immortals, good people to have as friends."

"I think we have enough of a problem keeping up with the ones we still have." Joe cocked an eyebrow at his friend. "Have you thought again about disappearing?"

"I don't really want to do that." His voice was stronger now. "I resent like hell the idea that someone would try to push me out of my life. I happen to like my life right now, even if it is lonely." He lifted his head and looked at Joe directly. "Friends help, you know. They always do."

"Are you going to tell MacLeod about this?"

Adam snorted. "That overgrown Boy Scout? Are you kidding? I'm a pragmatist, Joe. If I get him involved, he'll insist on 'protecting' me, and if he died whoever kills him will be too strong for anyone else to deal with. It's like a chess game where both kings have to keep their heads or nobody wins, and MacLeod and I are the kings, like it or not." He smiled grimly. "When I find out who it is, I'll take care of the matter before it gets out of hand. I don't want my Quickening to go to the wrong person; I'm particular that way."

"Well, let me know if you can, if you decide to go. I won't ask for a forwarding address." Joe tried to make it sound as if Adam were just taking the weekend off, instead of possibly the rest of Joe's lifetime. "I might be able to figure it out after a while."

"Maybe. If you're lucky." The thought seemed to cheer Adam. "I still have a few secrets, you know."

"Only a few? You're full of them," Joe said under his breath.

As the two men walked into the dojo, they heard the unmistakable sound of metal clashing on metal. Joe noticed Adam tensing, his eyes darting off into space in the expression he'd come to know as one Immortal sensing another.

Amanda was fencing with Millie in the otherwise empty dojo. It was obviously a practice session, and the two were well matched; both women spared only a glance toward the door as they entered. Millie wielded a cutlass with ease and skill against Amanda and her longsword. She countered a thrust with a sweeping backhand maneuver, moved in behind Amanda and put the cutlass to her throat.

"Do you yield, wench?"

Amanda dropped her sword. "Of course. I'll buy dinner."

"That's good enough for me." Millie lowered the blade, stepped back and wiped the sweat from her face with a towel. "You can pick the cuisine, I'll choose the restaurant. West Indian, Indonesian or Cuban?"

"West Indian." Amanda picked up her sword to clean it before putting it in its sheath.

"Jerk beef it is. I'll make a reservation for two at the Voodoo Club now." She nodded to Adam and Joe as she strode toward the office on powerful-looking legs. "Duncan, may I use your phone for a local call?"

"Sure, go ahead." Duncan emerged from the office to greet the newcomers. "Joseph, good to see you. Adam, I wasn't expecting you at the moment, but you're welcome."

"Oh, should I go out and come in again?" Adam retorted. "Why weren't you expecting to see me?"

"I'm out of beer."

"Very funny."

"What's funny?" Amanda peeked over Duncan's shoulder. "Adam disappearing if there's no beer? That's a fact of life."

"Lady, if I had a sword right now..."

"If you don't have one, you're in more trouble than I want to think about. I'll see you later; I'm going to hit the showers." She headed toward the locker room.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me," Duncan called after her.

"Come and scrub my back." She tossed a laugh toward them over her shoulder as she disappeared through a swinging door.

The three men moved into the elevator and went upstairs. Adam looked back at the office door as he went, frowning a little. When they reached Duncan's loft apartment on the top floor, he said abruptly, "Duncan, have you noticed anything odd about Millie?"

Duncan put a pot of coffee on to brew, and the men settled themselves on stools around his kitchen counter to wait for it. "No, not really. She and Amanda seem very close. Anything specific?"

Adam frowned. "She doesn't seem to have the same kind of buzz that you or I do. It's not as strong, and it seems to change. It's almost as if she can control it, which should be impossible."

"Fascinating." Joe leaned toward Adam. "Should I be taking notes?"

"Not at the moment."

Duncan took a long swig of coffee. "I can't say I've noticed any difference between hers and yours, for that matter. But you know, it's an individual thing, the buzz. What I feel isn't going to be the same as what you feel or what Amanda feels. We can't identify each other by it." He refilled everyone's cups. "Why are you so concerned?"

"I can't find her in the Chronicles." Adam stared Joe down, daring him to say anything about their earlier conversation. Joe shook his head slightly.

"Maybe she's a legend, like the great Methos."

"Very funny." Adam/Methos pulled a sour face. "I don't like it. It's one thing to have a legend that behaves itself and stays out of sight, as I try to do. It's another to have an unknown Immortal running around with Amanda."

"Amanda can take care of herself," Duncan said, though Joe could see that he privately doubted it.

"I'm sure she can, in some circumstances, but what about the rest of us? And don't forget, Millie won that little bout downstairs."

"Why are you so concerned? What's Millie to you?" Duncan asked, his eyebrows rising.

Methos hunched his shoulders and said nothing. Joe looked away, hoping Duncan wouldn't ask him what was happening.

The elevator's noise interrupted them. Amanda emerged, to ask Duncan, "Do you want us to bring back anything for you?"

"Thanks, but no. I'm going out to buy groceries in a little while," he told her. "Either of you want anything?" Adam and Joe shook their heads.

Millie walked into the room behind Amanda. She wore a light green jacket, darker slacks and a white shirt. Joe caught himself staring at her to see if her jewelry was silver; she wasn't wearing any. He could have sworn she'd worn a silver necklace at the bar.

"All right, we'll see you later. Now, Millie, where is this Voodoo Club? Sounds like something you brought back from your Caribbean holiday."

"You be surprised what I bring back from the Islands," Millie said, with a light Jamaican accent, as the elevator door closed.

The silence they left behind them held for nearly two minutes. Duncan poured coffee for the three of them and brought out the cream and sugar, and they dosed their coffees without speaking.

"Yeah. I see what you mean," Duncan said at last. "It's a little hard to tell next to Amanda, but her buzz is definitely different. Joe, do you recall anything from the Chronicles about this kind of thing?"

Joe shook his head. "There's not much written about how you people recognize each other. There's mention of the buzz, but that's all. Let me ask you: what can you tell from a buzz, besides that there's an Immortal around?"

Methos took a last drink of coffee and pushed the cup away. "If I tell you, will you keep it between us and not write it down? Word of honor?" Joe nodded. "All right. I can tell there's an Immortal. If it's louder, I can tell it's more than one. It's stronger for older Immortals, more complex somehow. I don't have the right words for it."

"The way a symphony is more complex than a quartet?" Joe suggested.

"That's not a bad comparison. Usually, the older we are, the more we have within us of the energies of others we've had to kill, and that contributes to it." He scratched his chin. "MacLeod, what can you add to this?"

"Not much. I'd agree about the buzz being stronger with older Immortals, or with those who've won more battles, but not always. Darius had an incredible buzz, unique, and he hadn't killed in nearly two thousand years."

"That's true, but he was a general before that; we don't even know how many he killed." Joe was getting interested. His Immortal friends rarely spoke so openly about themselves in his presence. Although he'd agreed not to take notes, he promised himself he'd find another way to add the information to the Chronicles, eventually. "Let's see, now. If we know what would make for a powerful buzz, what would weaken it? What would cause it to be wavy, to fade in and out?"

"I don't know." Duncan's eyes were still on Methos; Joe could see he hadn't forgotten that unanswered question. "Richie had such a strong buzz even before he became Immortal that I always knew where he was. That's why I caught him breaking into the shop; I could feel his presence that strongly upstairs and behind two walls. Michelle was the same." He poured refills for everyone. "I know it doesn't depend upon physical health, or emotion; a frightened Immortal on a battlefield with half a dozen bad wounds will send just as strong a signal as one who's in complete safety. The buzz from a woman isn't different from that of a man."

"If it's any help at all," Methos said, "the ability to distinguish one person's sensual signature, buzz, whatever, from another person's is something that comes with age. I don't remember when I started to be able to do it, but it wasn't until after I was about two thousand years old. I've never seen anyone who could do it who was much younger than that."

"Well, that lets the rest of us out." Duncan shrugged. He put the coffee cups in the sink and ran water into them.

"This is fascinating, but enough of business. So where's this guitar, MacLeod?" Joe asked. "Don't tell me you've found the original Les Paul lying in a garage."

"Would you settle for this?" Duncan walked around the counter, leaned over the back of a couch and picked up something wrapped in an old blanket. He handed it to Joe. "Early classical guitar, about 1830, pretty good condition, I think."

Joe whistled. "Mama mia, where did you find this? Good condition my eye, this is in miraculous condition." He fingered a few chords, listened to the mellow sound of the gut strings and the way the hardwood body resonated with their tone. "This must have cost you a fortune."

"A very small one. Do you like it?"

"Like it? Are you kidding? This is almost enough to make me give up blues."

"Oh, don't do that. Don't even joke about that," Duncan said, smiling. "Do you want it?"

Joe looked at him. "Yes, of course. Anyone with an ear would want it."

"Then it's yours. Some things should belong to certain people, and that guitar told me it was yours. Happy birthday, a little early."

"Duncan, I don't have words for this, I just don't have words for how much this means to me." Joe was flabbergasted. He'd never expected anything like this.

"For someone who doesn't have words," Methos put in, "you're pretty talkative."

"Just don't go putting an amp on it and plugging it in with the band. This one is for writing love songs." Duncan smiled again, enjoying the sight of Joe looking like a kid with a new toy.

"Come on, Joe, I'll drive you home so you can put the new baby to bed," Methos said.

Duncan handed Joe the blanket from the couch, which turned out to be a beautiful antique serape. Methos seemed about to object to its use to wrap the guitar, but shut his mouth firmly instead. Joe knew from his expression that the old material was probably worth as much as the instrument itself.

What was a Watcher to do with an assignment like Duncan MacLeod, who insisted on treating you as a friend, saving your life, and giving you the gifts you dreamed of and couldn't afford? Duncan would do the same for any of his friends, Joe realized. This was the man who spent half a year renovating a house from roof to basement, from timbers to plaster and paint, only to give it to his ex-lover as a home for herself and her child. Joe wondered, not for the first time, how much money Duncan really had, and whether it mattered to him at all. One thing was certain: Duncan was a far more interesting subject to watch than he'd ever expected when he started the job 20 years earlier.

***

"Hello, Joe. What have you been doing lately?"

"Playing with my birthday present."

"That's one way to put it."

"I mean my new guitar. A friend gave it to me, and said it was for writing love songs, so I'm writing you a love song."

"For me? Will you sing it to me sometime?"

"When I find you in person, I'll sing it to you."

Her voice was thoughtful. "That's really something to look forward to. Thank you."

"What have you been doing? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"I know, Joe, and I'm sorry. I had to go out of town for a while, but now I'm back. I was thinking of you all the time."

"Oh? Care to tell me what you were thinking about?"

"I was wondering how it would feel if you were there to rub my back at the end of the day, and maybe a little lower as well."

"Hmm. Something that wants rubbing might want other things as well, am I right?"

"You could be. I was also wondering how you like hot tubs, and lazy afternoons, and kisses in various places your clothes cover."

"As long as I can get in and out of the hot tub, I like it. Lazy afternoons and kisses -- I think you know me well enough that you didn't have to ask that, did you. And what would you want from me?"

"Just to be there and enjoy, and do whatever you wanted."

"Hmmm. It's a cold enough day out; lead me to that hot tub..."

***

Duncan came into the bar on Sunday morning, when he knew Joe would be balancing the books and nobody else would be there. He found Joe in his office, deep in paperwork.

"Joe, what's wrong with Methos? Don't tell me it's nothing; you saw how he was acting yesterday." Duncan sat on the arm of the empty chair across from Joe.

"You know he hasn't been the same since Alexa died," Joe hedged. He moved a few papers under others; Duncan didn't need to see Watcher reports. "He took her death really hard, and I don't think he's ever recovered."

"It takes a long time to recover from the death of someone you love," Duncan said, his voice soft with memories. "But there's something more about this. He's showed up at the dojo three times this week to practice with me; he never does that. He looks like hell. He hasn't been sleeping. What's wrong?"

Joe thought back over his conversation with Methos in the car. No, Methos hadn't forbidden Joe to tell Duncan, he'd just said he himself wouldn't do it. It was splitting hairs. Joe knew he couldn't sit on the sidelines this time.

"He thinks someone's stalking him."

Duncan gave a low whistle. "Who is it?"

"He doesn't know. I don't know. We've heard rumors through the Watchers that someone old and powerful was coming this way, headhunting, and it's got him on edge." Joe stood up to file the account book back into its slot in the cabinet. "I'll tell you one thing, though -- he doesn't want you involved. He's terrified the wrong Immortal will take your head and be stronger than anyone else."

"Can't say I'm thrilled with that idea either. Have you heard anything?"

Joe shook his head. "The only unusual thing that's been happening -- well, it's kind of private."

Duncan's eyebrows rose. "Private? For a Watcher?"

Joe's face grew hot under his beard. He turned away out of the light.

Duncan drew a breath. "Someone's been watching you, is that it?"

Joe nodded. "Looks like that. I don't know her name. She phones me when I get home from the club and we talk. It's never about Watcher business or Immortals, it's ... personal." He really didn't want to say any more.

"I see. And because you don't know who it is, you don't know if it's a setup."

Joe nodded again. It was a moment before he spoke. "You know, it's been difficult since Lauren died. I haven't found anyone else I cared about as much." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Wrote a lot of good blues, but didn't have anyone special to sing them to. Now there's this voice on the phone, someone I can talk to and I think I'm ..." He stopped and gave the tall Scotsman a sideways glance. "There's no way to identify someone as Immortal over the phone, is there?"

"Not unless you were already introduced and you recognize the voice."

"Didn't think so."

"You don't think this caller is the one who's after Methos, do you? If anyone really is after him, that is."

"No, I don't. But I can't prove anything. I didn't tell him about it, either; just one more thing for him to be paranoid about." Joe opened the office door and headed toward the bar.

"Yeah, he's changed a lot. I don't like what he's doing to himself." Duncan stood and followed him. "You know, since the situation with Garrick -- and Quentin Barnes -- I've been wondering how many Immortals might have split personalities."

"Multiple personalities? I don't think there are any others besides Quentin. I'd have to look." Joe poured coffee for both of them from the coffeemaker behind the bar. "You don't think Methos is one, do you?"

Duncan shook his head slowly. "I'd like to think not. He's many things. We all are, over time; I'm willing to bet you're not the same man you were twenty years ago. But whatever Methos is or has been, I don't think he could hide another personality that well. We've known him for seven years, Joe; we would have noticed something." He drank his coffee.

"I hate to mention this," Joe said, "but how long did you know your friend Michael before you realized he was also Quentin?"

"Far too long." Duncan pushed away his empty cup. "Thanks for telling me, Joe. I appreciate it."

"Just don't let him know I said anything, and stay out of his way. He's pretty touchy right now, and you're a lousy liar. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Wait and see. Keep my eyes open. Isn't that what you Watchers do?"

"You're learning." Joe smiled at a sudden thought.

"What is it?"

"I was trying to imagine a multiple Amanda."

"God forbid," Duncan said devoutly. "One is all I can handle at the best of times."

***

Mariellen's courier job was on hold. Amanda was hanging around Seacouver longer than expected; she'd even taken an apartment on the East Side. Joe didn't mind having Mariellen work as a waitress; she wasn't the best waitress he'd ever seen, but she was capable enough and he didn't have any complaints. She had one useful talent, probably a byproduct of her Watcher training: her ability to observe. She knew when a party was getting rowdy before the bouncers did, and tipped them off more than once.

Adam's suspicions of her seemed to have quieted down, but he kept an eye on her all the same. Joe couldn't say he minded; it never hurt to have the wisdom of the ages keeping track of one's employees, though he knew he couldn't say it out loud. The response he'd hear would sound a lot like, "What do you mean, wisdom of the ages? I'm just a guy!" Sure he was, just as Stonehenge was just some child's building blocks left out in the rain.

Mariellen hurried up and put her tray down on the bar. "I need a pitcher of margaritas for the ladies in the far corner, salt on the glasses, three draft Michelobs, two bowls of chips and a Dewars on the rocks." She observed Adam coolly as she popped bags of chips and pretzels and dumped them into bowls. "It wouldn't hurt for you to carry a tray either. Things are getting busy around here."

"You heard the lady. Get to work," Joe told Adam. It had taken a while for Mariellen to lose her shyness, but he liked the result.

Adam snapped him a mock salute and clicked his heels together sharply. "Yes sir, Mr. Dawson sir." He picked up the extra tray, loaded it with the beers and munchies, and took off at his usual fast walk.

Mariellen watched him go, and turned back to Joe. "I'm sorry if I stepped on his toes. Or yours."

"Don't be. He can take it." He grinned at her, and for the first time she ventured a shy smile. "Here, make sure the ladies have their margaritas before they decide to go to Mexico for them."

Duncan and Amanda stopped by later in the evening. Joe could hear them arguing amicably the minute they came through the door.

"Duncan, I've seen just as many movies as you have. I've even been in one or two, a long time ago. Trust me, this director's inspiration was French."

"It was German, Amanda. The hair styles, the way he directed the women -- it was straight Pabst. It was Louise Brooks in "Pandora's Box," all over again."

"Can I get you some German beer and French wine? Or perhaps French beer and German wine?" Joe waved a hand at the taps. "I gather you went to the new movie at the Strand."

"I don't want to talk about it," both of them said in unison. They caught themselves and looked at each other. "Wine," said Amanda. "Beer," said Duncan. They looked at each other again, broke out laughing, and pointed to what they wanted.

Joe poured Amanda a glass of Liebfraumilch, and pulled a draft beer for Duncan. "It's not French, but I can wave a croissant over it if that will help."

"No, thanks." Duncan took a sip of his beer. "Where's the band?"

"They're playing a wedding over in Clancytown; they'll be back later. I thought I'd make it open mike night, see if anyone wants to sing something original for the crowd."

"This could be interesting," Amanda said, surveying the room. Her eyes fastened on Mariellen, and widened. She poked Duncan in the ribs. "Duncan, haven't I seen that woman before?"

Oops. Joe wanted to sink under the bar. He knew Duncan had seen Mariellen more than once; she'd worked at the bar for a month now, and probably waited on both of them the previous weekend. Duncan knew most of the help at Joe's were Watchers; he wasn't certain if Amanda knew this. Unfortunately, Duncan was a rotten liar, especially around a woman who'd made that skill into a fine art over centuries.

He held his breath as Duncan said, with an absolutely straight face, "You know, she does remind me of someone. I think she looks like your friend, Millie."

Amanda watched Mariellen doubtfully. "I don't know. You could be right. She does resemble someone, but after a thousand years or so almost everyone resembles someone." She pointed to Joe. "You, for instance, could be the spitting image of someone I fell in love with centuries ago, and all I'd remember is the face and the emotions."

"Not the name?"

"Names weren't always that important. There weren't so many of them to keep track of." She tapped a finger on her lips thoughtfully. "You know, I was joking just now, but you do remind me of someone, and I've think I know who it is. You look like the captain of one of Grania O'Malley's pirate ships."

"I'm flattered." Joe poured her a little more wine. "Refill on the house. Did you sail with Grania O'Malley?"

"Only once, but it was wonderful. That's when I met Millie, and later on she took me with her on her ship in the Caribbean."

Joe made a mental note to ask Adam to cross-reference West Indian pirate ships and women named Millie.

Mariellen walked up to the bar again. "There's a table free if you'd like to follow me," she said to Duncan and Amanda. Her face looked as expressionless as usual. Joe wondered what was going on behind those pale eyes. They didn't look so pale tonight; the silver and jade earrings seemed to make them sparkle. She seated them, gave them menus, came back to the bar and asked, "Is my cover blown?"

Joe shook his head. "You're all right. Don't worry."

She gave him another small smile and went back to work.

***

Adam didn't usually show up anywhere early in the morning, for which Joe was intensely grateful. Monday morning, though, he was on the doorstep at Joe's house at 8 a.m., and when Joe opened the door he came in quickly and shut it behind himself.

"Breakfast, delivered fresh to your doorstep. Croissants, pastries, oranges, the New York Times, whatever you want." Adam set the bag down on the counter. "What would you like first?"

"Four hours more sleep," Joe complained. At the sound of the doorbell he'd thrown on a robe and answered the door from his wheelchair, something he disliked doing without warning. "What's so all-fired important that you have to haul me out of bed at this hour?"

"At this hour? The sun's been up for at least two hours by now." Adam threw up his hands as Joe threatened to throw a shoe at him. "All right. If it's any consolation, I haven't slept at all. I stayed up all night tracing something interesting on the Watcher database and in the Chronicles."

"This better be good." Joe wheeled himself into the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. "I'll take one of those croissants, and some of the jelly."

"Coming right up. Would you mind if I turn on your computer at the same time? It will be easier to show you than to tell you."

"Yeah, sure." The coffee brewed, and Joe poured himself a straight black cup and took the first half of it in one gulp. "All right. I'm awake. What did you find?" He buttered and jellied his croissant and rolled himself over to the computer. "First, I looked up the Caribbean and the West Indian pirates, and you were right. There was a woman there named Emilia Cortez, nicknamed Millie, who sailed with Anne Bonney. Records on her are sketchy, but the one description of her says that she had long blonde hair and green eyes."

"Not the coloring one might expect of a Cortez," Joe commented, interested in spite of himself.

"Widow of Juan Cortez, another pirate. Now, the curious thing is that I tried to track backward and forward from that Chronicle and didn't really find much until I fed in the physical description. Then it got very interesting. Here, you try it." He typed in the descriptors he'd used, then handed the keyboard back to Joe. The screen filled with names, dates, times, places, far more than Joe would have expected even for someone as well-observed as Duncan MacLeod.

"Next, I sorted out the obvious double-hits, and the ones where we know the person was someone else using a disguise. There've been several green-eyed woman Immortals, and some have worn wigs or bleached their hair at times. That cut out about half the hits." Adam went through the maneuvers he'd used. Joe looked at the results.

"Do you see what I see?" Adam pointed to the dates next to the names and the observations. "We either have someone who's mastered the art of bilocation, or two Immortals named Millie who have shown up at almost the same time in totally different places."

Joe squinted at the screen. Regardless of what he'd said, he really wasn't awake yet. Still, the evidence was starting to support Adam's idea, whatever it was. Joe still wasn't sure quite what he was getting at.

"I think we have twin Immortals," Adam said.

"Twins?" The thought startled him. "You know, I've never even imagined that. Twin foundlings, probably separated at birth, raised separately, becoming Immortal separately and at different times..."

"They might not even know about each other. They may never have met, but there's the evidence that it could happen." Adam flung his hands wide, nearly upsetting both cups of coffee. "Sorry." He refilled the cups from the coffee pot and sat down again, intent on the screen. "Or maybe they did meet, and train each other. Anything is possible with us. You should know that by now."

"Let's see," Joe muttered, scratching his chin. His beard itched, and he wished he'd had time for a shower. "Can we discount any of these observations as being from new Watchers, confusion or any other cause?"

"I screened for that. It knocked out these." Adam's next few keystrokes trimmed the screen from three columns to two. "Here's the other thing I find very interesting indeed. Read the Chronicles on these particular dates and locations, and you see that the actions and personalities of the Millies are completely different. This one's a fighter, a pirate queen, an independent woman who can take care of herself. This other one, however, seems to run away from fights more often than face them, and although she's skilled with a longsword she usually fights with an Italian smallsword, which is more a gentleman's plaything than a real weapon. The pirate uses a cutlass."

"Like the one we saw Millie use to fight Amanda."

"Yes. If you sort them according to behavior, you find one woman who has lived an active, adventurous life -- she's been a pirate, an explorer, a rider with the Pony Express, a corporal in the Army of Virginia during the War Between the States. The photo from that time has darker hair, but there's a note about her cutting it short and dying it with walnut or butternut so she wouldn't stand out so much."

"And the other woman?"

"The other woman has spent most of her life living in fairly protected circumstances. She's been an extern sister at a convent; those are the ones that maintain relations with the outside world and do the physical labor, instead of singing in choir all day. If the records are accurate, she's spent more time on holy ground or near it than Darius. It's too bad he's not still around for us to ask him about her. Later on, during the Renaissance, she was the widow of a merchant prince; she traveled with her own private army, stayed in convents, and led a life of wealth and power that was, in the physical sense, extremely circumscribed. She may not have been close enough to any other Immortals to be noticed for centuries.

Joe squinted at the dates on the screen and rubbed his chin. "Wait a minute. These dates are close but I don't think they overlap. Are you sure you don't have one Immortal here instead of two?"

"One Immortal? What are you thinking of, some kind of time-share? Pirate this decade and nun the next?"

"Or a split personality, not as deadly as the Quentin Barnes situation. Someone whose whole way of life flipped over when the personality changed."

"No, that doesn't work. Look, here's two places where she was seen in the same month -- in the same week -- and she couldn't have traveled from one to the other that quickly. It took far more than a week to go from Belgium to Tunis in those days."

"All right. So there are two women, with the same name, in different places and you're the first person in 500 years to notice this?" Joe yawned. This was getting way too complicated for 8:10 a.m. on a Monday. "Wait a minute. How old is this woman? These women? This is getting confusing." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Comes to that, who are they?"

Adam shrugged. "I can't tell you who both of them are, but I can tell you who one of them may be." He drew a deep breath. "Milia of Dun Laoghaire, our missing Irishwoman." He pronounced it Dun Leery, in Gaelic.

"Milia? We lost track of her more than a thousand years ago."

"Yes, we did. Interesting, isn't it?"

"And how old would Milia be? As old as you are?"

"Possibly older. Dun Laoghaire was named by the Celts, but she's older than that. She was living there when she was first observed; that's how she acquired that name. I'd say she might be as old, at the outside, as the stone circle at Newgrange -- which is considerably older than I am."

"If she's older than the Celts, and from what you're saying she's also older than the Picts and the Iceni, what tribe would she be from?"

Adam took a gulp of his coffee before answering, and put the cup safely aside out of reach. "The Tuatha de Danaan. The people of the goddess Dana -- the original people of Ireland, long before anyone else arrived." His expression was wry. "She'd make me look like as much of a youngster as I think Richie is."

Joe considered this a moment, then went back to the other question that poked at his mind. "If she's twins, though, what does that mean for the buzz? Would each one have a full buzz, or only half the strength of the normal?"

Adam shook his head. "I don't know. Nobody knows. My guess is that the twin who was the pirate --"

"The Millie who is Amanda's friend --"

"She would have the stronger buzz, because of the influence on it of all the other Immortals she's killed in battle. The other one, the one who's lived in retirement, so to speak, might not have a strong buzz at all. I don't think it would get weaker -- Darius's certainly didn't -- but it would be a much simpler chord, if you follow me, and probably a quieter sound. Like Mariellen's, in fact, but probably a little louder. This person has been around a long time; some of that experience has to show."

"What if it's the same person, with two personalities in one body? Would that mean that the buzz would only be obvious when the more active personality was in dominance."

Adam yawned like a cat, covered his mouth and leaned forward to rest his head on one hand. A thin gold chain around his neck spilled over the collar of his sweater. "Sorry. If it's two in one, I'd guess that would be possible. I don't know. The only one of us who would have known was Garrick, and he was an entire fruitcake factory just by himself. I wonder where all his books went? Maybe I should talk to his former Watcher."

Joe finished the croissant and picked up a donut. "You look like you're getting a little more sleep, even if you pulled an all-nighter last night. Are you still worried about a stalker?"

"A little. Can't stay on red alert all the time." His hand played unconsciously with something on the gold chain. "The phone calls have stopped, at least."

"What's that? It looks very interesting, if I may say so."

"This?" Adam realized he was playing with the necklace; he opened his hand around it to show it to Joe. "It's something old that I picked up in Egypt for Alexa. I thought the profile looked like hers; she thought it was beautiful, and so I bought it for her. I've worn it or kept it with me ever since she died. It's a copy of something older; not that valuable, but she loved it." He dropped the necklace back inside his collar.

"I'll have to think about this twin business. Don't mention it to anyone else for now."

"Are you kidding? Nobody else would believe me."

"Only me, I know. Have another donut."

***

Mariellen seemed to be gaining confidence from working in the club. She was always respectful to Joe, but she was starting to smile a little more often. She didn't smile at Adam as much as at Joe, but she gave him so much trouble about not working as hard as she did that Joe began to be concerned, until he saw the twinkle in her eye. She had such an incredible straight face that he was glad she didn't play poker.

"What is this? Did someone put a target on my backside when I wasn't looking, or a sign that says, 'Kick me'?" Adam demanded one night, exasperated. "Look, Joe, she's been on my back all night. Will you tell her to back off?"

Joe grinned and put up one hand to ward off the bar mop Adam was wielding. "No way. I think this is between you two. Did you ever consider that maybe she likes you?"

Adam shook his head. "It can't be that. She barely knows I'm around unless you're here to watch. I went to say hello to her on the street yesterday and she didn't know I existed. Maybe she's showing off for you."

"C'mon. Give the girl a break. It's her first real field assignment -- with Connor in semi-retirement, you can't say that was much of a field job -- she's nervous as hell, and she's trying to relax a little. I don't think your first field assignment was any easier, was it?"

Adam snorted. "Hardly. Saving the world from Kalas wasn't a picnic."

"That was your first field work? You're kidding."

"Nope. That was it. And the way things are going, I think I'll head back to Paris, haul my stuff out of storage and go hide in a cubicle for another 15 years. It's much more peaceful." Adam's eyes followed Mariellen as she moved through the crowd. It was as if the clumps of people standing together talking stepped apart as she approached. Or was she doing some kind of dance step that just timed things perfectly? Whatever was happening, it was interesting to watch.

"Did you figure out anything more on our research topic?" Joe rubbed a splotch of spilled liqueur with a bar mop; it would leave a real stain on the wood if not cleaned up. "I've had a few ideas I want to talk to you about."

Adam shrugged. "I've been trying to track down where the second Millie is right now, but it doesn't look as if she survived the Renaissance very long. I haven't found references to her after the late 1600s. She may have vanished in one of the witch hunts, or perhaps she went to ground somewhere and died anonymously of an accident. It happens sometimes, not very often; a roof beam falling during a fire can behead a person, for instance."

"Where is Millie the pirate, by the way? I haven't seen her around lately."

"You knew she rented an apartment over on the East Side, near Amanda's new place? She's been working as a stuntwoman for a television production studio that's filming some new action series here. I hear she's very good, very careful and precise -- hits whatever target they tell her to aim at, but isn't afraid to take chances."

"Not a bad job for an Immortal, as long as she doesn't get killed in public," Joe admitted. "Is she still training at the dojo?"

Adam nodded. "On Saturdays, with whoever's there. She's good; I went up against her last weekend with a quarterstaff, and I haven't seen anyone better for a long time. I don't think she's a headhunter, though; she hasn't the feel of one. She'll wait for trouble to find her but she will deal with it when it comes."

Mariellen walked up to the bar, ignoring Adam's presence. "Two Millers, a gin-and-tonic with a twist, a Scotch and soda, a B-and- B, and a Talisker straight up."

"You're looking very well tonight, Mariellen," Adam observed.

She looked at him as if she'd only just noticed that he was there. "Thanks."

"Where did you learn that little dance step that gets you through the crowds?" Adam was persistent, though Joe doubted it would get him anywhere.

"It's called the cat step. I studied tai chi chuan for a while." She said it offhandedly, as if this was something everyone studied for a while.

"That's not in your resume, is it? You should add it; it may come in handy on future assignments," Joe advised her. "If there's any other skills you've got that may be useful, mention them too. Don't worry if it doesn't seem relevant now. Almost anything can be relevant, given some circumstances."

She shot him a wary look. "All right. I'll give you the updated resume tomorrow." She took the drinks and walked away.

Joe's smile twisted; he dropped the bar mop and rubbed his beard ruefully. He hadn't handled that as well as he'd wanted to. Instead of complimenting her for a skill that allowed her to move easily through crowds -- something he himself found nearly impossible -- he'd sounded heavy handed and stuffy. And he hated feeling stuffy.

"Forget it, Joe," Adam said. "She's just in a mood or something."

Joe was watching Mariellen move through the corner of the dance floor as if it didn't have six couples dancing on it in room enough for three. "Would you just check again and see if anything's been written on ESP in pre-Immortals? Sometimes I could swear that woman's psychic, or else damn lucky, and I'd really like to find out which."

"I don't think there's anything there, but I'll look. Maybe I'll find something in Garrick's books. They're in storage at the Watchers' warehouse; I'm going to go through them tomorrow." Adam drained his beer. "Anything in particular?"

"I don't know. Nothing like psychokinesis or healing powers -- but she knows five minutes ahead when a couple will start arguing, or when someone's had too much and needs to be dealt with."

The object of their discussion raised her head across the room, looked directly at the two men, shrugged, and went back to listening to a plump man in a football jersey tell her exactly how he wanted his club sandwich.

"See what I mean?" Joe asked.

Adam nodded. "It's probably just coincidence, but I'll take a look." He picked up his tray and headed back into the crowd, not nearly as gracefully as she had.

Joe sighed. He hoped he hadn't upset Mariellen with his request, but it was for her own good. The more he knew about her abilities, the better he'd be able to help her use them. He didn't want her to become an Immortal while she still seemed to feel so uncertain about life as a mortal. Amanda was a good assignment for her; Amanda might take on a mortal man in a fight -- and win -- but she had never been known to hurt another woman. He offered a prayer to whatever saint looks after Watchers -- possibly St. Simeon, patron of fools -- that she'd have a good life before her first death, and a good teacher afterward. Maybe he should mention her to Duncan soon; Duncan was the best, and he could find her a teacher if he didn't take her on himself.

***

Mariellen's new resume, on his desk the next morning, included a number of things her old one had failed to mention. She'd studied tai chi chuan for two years, as well as a number of other self-defense courses; her family had insisted on it during the troubled times of the early '60s. Joe wasn't sure from reading the account whether she'd been sword-trained or not; it was very carefully worded. Either way, she'd be able to deal with muggers in a dark alley far better than he would himself.

She could read and write medieval Latin, Romansch, and several other less-well-known languages. He'd known her undergraduate degree had been in classics and theatre, her graduate degree in linguistics, but most linguistics majors he'd known in the Watchers hadn't specialized as much in the lesser-known European languages.

Her family, immigrants from Finland, had encouraged her studies and fostered her independence, according to letters he found deep among her recommendations. A Watcher who had known the family had written a comprehensive report on them during her background check. It was enough to satisfy the most suspicious mind, Joe thought. She had to be genuine. Nobody would go to this much trouble.

Knowledge of languages, especially obscure ones, was valued by the Watchers, almost above any other knowledge. This was one reason Adam was so useful as a Watcher -- he had a working acquaintance with so many dialects, based on his time studying at the Sorbonne ... and so many other places.

Thinking of Adam made him wonder what Adam might find in Garrick's books. Garrick hadn't just gone through analysis with Freud and Jung and ever other major psychologist of the century, he'd kept his own notes based on his centuries of experience with second sight, and on his observance of others.

Joe shrugged, put the folder back into the file drawer, and stared at the wall until Terry came in at 10:30 to open the kitchen and start the soup for lunch.

***

"Hi, Joe. Did you have a good day?"

"A lot better now, hearing your voice. Can you hear me playing that new guitar in the background?"

"Yes, and it sounds good. Did you finish the song you were writing yet?"

"Almost. I just want to add a few touches to it. Is there anything you'd like to have touched?"

"Sweetheart, I thought that was my line."

"You can have any line you want, honey."

"And what if I tangle you up in them too?"

"I'll be happy, all wrapped up in you. You know, Emmy, it's not easy figuring out who you are. Can you tell me anything at all that'll make it easier?"

"I think I've already given you enough clues. You'll just have to be more observant."

"I know what I'd like to observe, and touch, and get close to."

"I think I can guess. I'd like to get a little closer to you, too, and see just how gray some of your hair is. I find gray hair sexy, you know."

"Age is sexy now? That's good news."

"Experience is sexy, and I'd bet you've got enough that you could teach me something or other."

"Does that mean you're not looking for some young stud to chase you? I sure hope so, honey."

"Why should I have to look for him when I have you? Besides, young studs are all flash and no substance. I think you know a whole lot more about what to do with what than some kid."

"Can I guess how old you are?"

"Probably not, and I'd rather you didn't try. Age is such a sensitive issue. I'd rather deal with sensitive tissues, like the ones you've got behind that zipper."

***

It was the end of a long evening. When the bar closed, Joe sometimes gave himself the owner's privilege of sitting with friends to enjoy the last song before the club closed for the night. This night he sat with Amanda, who had come in alone to listen to the music.

Adam had just delivered the last round of drinks to the people who had ordered them. He dropped into the chair next to Amanda and put his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

"Adam, are you ever home?" Amanda put a hand on his arm to catch his attention.

"What?" Adam leaned back toward her, to try to hear her under the sound of the band.

"Are you ever home? I've been trying to call you for a month, and there seems to be something wrong with your telephone line, it goes dead or something."

Adam's face was a study in confusion. "You've been calling me for a month?"

Amanda nodded. "You told me a while back that you were having trouble taping all the episodes of "Soldier, Soldier" on the BBC -- you'd missed a couple and couldn't find when they were supposed to be on again. I tried to call you for weeks to tell you when they were scheduled, but all I got was a dead line and some odd crackle." She reached into the big leather purse she'd brought. "This was before I realized you were working late here so often. So I taped them for you. Enjoy."

Could this have been Adam's mysterious caller, the one who had made him so suspicious? From the expression on Adam's face, it sounded like an adequate explanation for at least some of the confusion.

Adam's mouth opened and shut convulsively, making him look remarkably like a goldfish. "Amanda, I'm amazed. Thank you," he said, when he could talk. "I really appreciate this." He looked at the stack of tapes. "You know, I might have answered the phone myself once or twice and not recognized your voice. I'm sorry."

It was Amanda's turn to blush. "Oh. Of course you couldn't recognize it, I was calling from the office."

"Excuse me?" Joe cut in. "You have a different voice at work than at other times?"

"Well, not exactly." Amanda reached into her purse again and brought out a small black box with a rubber section to attach it to a telephone receiver. "I've been using a voice scrambler sometimes, so it won't always sound as if I'm the only one in that office. I must have forgotten to turn it off when I called. In fact, I think I didn't turn it off at least once, because I called Duncan right afterward. He didn't know who I was, and he wasn't happy about being waked up by some strange woman."

After Amanda left, Joe leaned toward Adam, who still stared at the pile of videotapes on the table. "So, there's your mysterious stalker."

"I guess so." Adam's expression was bemused. "I'll have to do something very nice for that woman one of these days. Maybe I'll send some business her way."

***

Duncan walked in at lunchtime a few days later, looking tired. "Can I have a word with you, Joe?"

"Sure, MacLeod. Here, have a beer." He pulled a draft ale for him and put the mug on the bar. Duncan took a drink, looking around as he did so.

"There's nobody here but me. What's wrong? You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I haven't. Amanda's disappeared."

"Disappeared? What do you mean disappeared?"

Duncan put the mug back on the bar, not gently. "I mean she's disappeared. She's not at the dojo, or her apartment, or Millie's apartment. She hasn't been seen at her office."

"That's right. She's a certified jewelry appraiser now, isn't she? Office in the Quadrangle Building?"

Duncan shrugged. "I don't know where she got the certificate, but that's what she's been doing and she's taking it seriously." He took another drink.

"Nice neighborhood." Joe wiped up the beer Duncan had spilled. "She's a big girl, MacLeod, she can take care of herself."

"Not when Kundry is in town, and swearing to take her head."

"Kundry? I thought she'd disappeared into Ethiopia. Wasn't she the one who had the Grail fixation?" Joe had never met Kundry, but from the Chronicles he knew her to have a wicked temper and a very long memory. He stopped wiping for a moment. This had to be the Immortal that Methos was worried about -- she fit the bill too well. She was an older Immortal whose goal seemed to be to guard the Holy Grail, if she could find it; she'd last been seen in Ethiopia, near a small church reputed to hold the Grail itself.

"Yes. And now she thinks Amanda stole something from her, and she wants it back. She was very clear about that when she came by the dojo yesterday and did a damn good job of tearing the place apart. I had a hard time getting her out of there while I still had walls and a floor." Duncan's mouth set hard; Joe knew he'd just finished remodeling the place a month before.

"So maybe Amanda has just gone to ground. She's done that more than once; the last time she did, her Watcher resigned because she couldn't find her."

Duncan waved that idea aside. "She does that in Europe, but not here. She hasn't been on this continent long enough to have the kind of hideyholes that Kundry wouldn't find -- and if I have a hard time handling Kundry, what do you think will happen to Amanda?"

Joe knew of at least one hiding place in the U.S. that Amanda had used not too long before -- where she'd been when Duncan went through his Dark Quickening -- but he knew better than to say that to Duncan.

"If I hear anything, I'll let you know, but there's not much more I can do." He could guess what would come next.

"Can you ask her watcher where she is?"

Joe shook his head. "I could, but I won't; however, if the subject does come up I'll let you know. I have to stay in line with some of the Watcher ethics, you know."

"I know, Joe. You're a good friend." Duncan put money for the beer on the counter; Joe pushed it away.

"This one's on the house. Keep the change; you might need it for phone calls."

***

Adam came in late in the afternoon to eat supper with Joe before the evening shift started. Joe had just started a bowl of Irish stew, and Adam served himself a bowl and sat down at a table next to him.

"I couldn't find a thing on pre-Immortals, Joe. Garrick apparently wasn't interested in them. But I did find some interesting things on dual personality in Immortals."

"Really? I'm all ears," Joe said. He took a sip of beer and looked inquiringly at Adam.

"Garrick had whole notebooks on the subject. He claimed to have met several split personalities over the centuries. Some of them changed occupations when the personalities changed; one man went from being a stonemason to a highwayman and back again several times. The Watchers only noticed the two were the same when the highwayman was killed and beheaded, and the stonemason mysteriously disappeared."

"Wouldn't the man's appearance have stayed the same for both?"

Adam swallowed a bite of stew. "That's the interesting part. I don't know how much you've studied human anatomy, Joe --"

"Enough to know how things work, some things more than others." Joe grinned, ruefully. "I know a whole lot about legs."

"Well, I studied medicine some centuries ago, never mind where. Something we observed then was the differences in appearance of similar people based on their muscular development in their faces. You know, the old thing about smiling causing fewer wrinkles than frowning, and so on."

"So?"

"Garrick claimed that dual personalities used different muscles and different expressions, and therefore could look unlike their former selves when they changed personalities. He said he noticed differences in eye color -- hazel becoming green or gold, for instance -- as well as in the way they moved and walked. He even noted different voices from the personalities."

Different voices. Maybe those phone calls were from the hunter after all, but who was she setting up? And why?

"One other thing." Adam pushed his empty dish away. "Swordfighting skill seems to be dependent on personality. If both personalities weren't trained to fight, you'd better hope you were in the fighting one when someone came for you, or you'd be dead. That's how most of the multiples died; they literally weren't the people who knew how to hold a sword at the time they were killed."

Joe shook his head. "You know, this is just what we needed now. Duncan came in this afternoon and said that Amanda has disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Uh huh. He also said Kundry the Defender tried to take the dojo apart looking for her. She thinks Amanda stole something from her."

"That's not impossible, but it's pretty unlikely. She's doing well in her new job; I was in to see her last week." Adam frowned. "Did Kundry say what was stolen?"

Joe shook his head. "Duncan didn't know."

The phone rang at the bar, and Joe got up to answer it.

"Joe, this is Mariellen. I won't be in tonight -- I'm following Amanda."

"All right. Can you tell me where she is?"

"Not exactly; she left before I could catch her, but I've got a good idea where she's going. There's an antique jewelry show in San Francisco, and I'll check there first."

"Good luck. Keep me informed." He hung up.

"If that was Mariellen, I've got a hunch I'm working the bar alone tonight."

"You got it. She's following Amanda to San Francisco for a jewelry show."

Adam cleared the table, taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen. When he returned, he said, "I'm going to run over to the dojo for a moment. I'll be right back."

Joe smiled slowly. "So I won't officially know what you're telling MacLeod. Go ahead."

***

Joe watched the crowd that evening with a hidden feeling of relief that Mariellen wasn't there. It was no secret that this was neutral ground for Immortals and Watchers both, but Kundry the Defender wasn't likely to know that if she'd just arrived, and she didn't have a good reputation for maintaining the safety of bystanders. Five Watchers had been killed "by accident" near her in the past eight centuries.

He'd decided a while back that unless something changed radically, he didn't want to be involved with a woman who was a Watcher. Still, he was starting to get used to having her around. He liked her undemanding company at the club, and her willingness to work hard when the crowd was standing-room-only. Just having a woman around that he could rely on was something he'd missed, even if he couldn't share anything more of himself with her. She hardly ever said much to him, but she seemed to bring a kind of peacefulness into the room that he appreciated.

He still caught himself watching every woman who walked into the club, wondering if she might be his telephone lover. Most of them he could dismiss at once -- the voice or the accent was wrong, or he wouldn't get the sense that they'd ever think of calling a man and sweet-talking him into orgasm, not once but many times. What was it she'd said, that she'd given him all the clues he needed? He didn't really know anything about her -- he didn't know what she looked like, how she walked, or even what she liked to drink. He knew none of the everyday surface matters by which people identify each other -- and so much of her inner life, of her desires and the way she'd be with him. It was almost as if they'd been lovers in another life and were remembering everything except who they were then.

So what did he know? She wore green and silver. She liked his looks and his music. She liked to slip in and listen from the back or the side of the room, never up close to the stage. She liked a man to have experience in loving. She was generous and honest with him, and he wanted to find her so much he could feel the ache.

It was a fairly slow night. Mike took care of the bar while Adam waited tables. Arctic Blues was playing a gig in Seattle, and Joe couldn't imagine a Saturday without some music in the club, so he'd declared it new music night. Anyone who wanted to sing or play something new was welcome to do so. After an earnest girl with cropped black hair sang her own bluesy version of an old West Country ballad (not badly, either, he thought), Joe picked up the old guitar Duncan had given him and sat down behind the mike.

"I know this is a little different than what you usually hear from me," he said as he settled himself on the high stool, "but this guitar was a gift from a friend, who told me it was only for writing love songs and not for playing the blues. With that in mind, I'd like to sing something I wrote on this guitar. It's for a very special lady, and she knows who she is." The murmur in the crowd died down. He glanced around the room; Adam stood by the bar with Mike. Mariellen probably wouldn't be back for days.

"Love on the line,   
Sweet voices sweeter than valentines   
Late in the night, when you call me your lover.

Love on the line,   
No words are needed sometimes   
Just a sigh in the night, when I know that you're mine.

You go where you want and you do what you have to do   
In the daytime, stay-away time.   
But late in the night when the love's flowing free   
We can do what we want to,   
No one will know that you love me so tenderly

Love on the line   
Kisses so fine and touches so rare   
Desire in the air   
late in the night, when you call me your lover."

He'd closed his eyes as he sang, as if he could sing to Emmy that way and know she was there to hear him. When he finished he looked around the room as the audience applauded. Adam stood in front of the bar, blocking a woman in a faded leather flying jacket and khakis whose face was deeply tanned. Her hair was dark, braided into a knot at the back of her neck, and her dark eyes flashed.

"That's all from me for tonight," Joe said into the mike. "Let's hear more from some of you." He surrendered the stage to a kid with a beat-up Martin knockoff, and hurried back to the bar.

Joe handed the old guitar to Mike to put behind the bar for safety; he'd put in his office as soon as possible. He cut in front of Adam as he turned toward the newcomer. "Welcome to Joe's. Anything I can do for you?"

The woman's eyes, slate gray in the light from the bar, scanned him as if she were reading a code. "I think not, but I will ask anyway." Her voice had the slight lilt of Africa in it, the rhythm of other languages learned long ago coming through the English. "I am seeking Amanda Le Fauve, also known as Amanda Darrieux. We have business to discuss. Can you tell me where she might be?"

Joe shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry. I think I might know the person you're looking for, but I haven't seen her in more than a week now. If she comes by, who should I say is asking for her?"

"Tell her Kundry is here to reclaim what belongs to her."

"What is it that she has of yours?" Adam asked, from behind Joe.

Kundry turned her level gaze on him. "Have we met?"

"It's possible, but unlikely."

"No matter. She has a necklace that was given to me long ago, by one I held very dear. It was stolen from me six years ago, taken from my home in Ethiopia, and sold down the Nile from place to place. I followed it, but the last place I heard of it was one of the better tourist bazaars." She tensed slightly and swiveled to look at the crowd. "Another of us is here, but not the one I seek." She looked back at Adam. "Many of our kind travel through the bazaars of Alexandria, taking away what they like. You know this."

"Yes."

Joe didn't look around at Adam but he sensed strong tension in the man's wiry frame. He glanced down at his own hand on his cane, and noticed Adam's hand clenched deep in a pocket under his bar apron. Joe shifted his balance a little to mask Adam's tension.

"Can you describe what you're looking for? Perhaps one of us has seen it," Joe said.

His attempt to draw her attention away from Adam succeeded. He knew Kundry would not consider him a threat, so he might as well ask the question.

Kundry nodded. She took a pen from a jacket pocket and turned over a printed cocktail napkin to its plain back. On it she drew a circle, with a woman's profile inside it, and around the circle were words in an ancient script. "This is the front of it, and here is the back." She drew another circle, and wrote more words on in the same antique script. "Have you seen this?"

Joe shook his head. "No, but I'll be sure to know it now when I see it. Is there any place you can be reached?"

Kundry shook her head. "I travel. Tell those whom you know -- I will regain what is mine. If it is given back freely, I will take no revenge. If it is hidden from me, I will find it and I will take it back, and the one who has kept it from me will pay." She bowed slightly to Joe, turned and swept out the door. A woman in a dark coat, moving swiftly, emerged from the back of the crowd and followed her out. Joe barely had time to notice the second woman's existence. Adam had grabbed the cocktail napkin away and was reading it as if his life depended on it. "I don't believe it. Amanda told me this was a third-century replica, and she knows more about goldwork than Benvenuto Cellini." He brought his clenched fist up to lean it on the bar next to the napkin. "It's too much."

"What is it?" Joe didn't like the look of anguish on Adam's face, the emotions pouring raw from him. He steered Adam back into the office, away from the crowd, turned on the lights and shut the door.

Adam put the crumpled napkin on the desk and smoothed it with trembling fingers. His voice cracked. "It's a medallion of Miryam of Judea. Mary, the mother of Jesus."

"What?!" Joe looked past the napkin at Adam's open hand, cradling the small gold medallion. It glowed in the light from the desk lamp. "What does the writing say?"

"'Miriam, mother of the Lord, the Healer.' That's around the profile on the front. On the back, it says, 'Arise and be healed." Adam turned the gold piece so they could see the miniscule writing on its back. "It's almost too worn to read any more." His eyes were filling with tears. "Alexa wore this medal every day for six months, and it didn't keep her from dying. She wasn't healed."

Joe rested a hand on Adam's shoulder, trying to lend him comfort. Adam shook it off. "It's too much, Joe. Kundry wants the only thing I have that brings Alexa back to me."

"And she's willing to kill Amanda for it."

"You can't ask me to give it up."

"I'm not asking you that. I'm asking you if there's anything I can do to help."

"Bring Alexa back from the dead. No. Nothing."

Joe felt his own eyes starting to fill. "Tell her to bring Lauren with her."

***

Joe tended bar the rest of that night alone, brooding as he poured drinks and rang up the bills. Adam emerged from his office, put his bar apron next to the cash register, nodded to Joe and left. Terry came out to wait tables after the kitchen closed at 11, and that helped a lot. The crowd thinned quickly and left, and the band packed up its instruments.

It was only when Joe noticed the band putting away its guitars that he remembered the woman who had slipped out of the room to follow Kundry. What had she worn? Some kind of dark coat and a hat; he couldn't remember seeing her hair but thought he'd glimpsed a blond strand escaping her hood. Kundry had said there was another Immortal in the room, but Adam had been so tense he hadn't reacted to this as he usually would. It wasn't anyone Joe recognized either, and he prided himself on knowing the appearance and history of every Immortal who had ever crossed paths with Duncan MacLeod, as well as most of the ones who hadn't.

Just what they needed, another mysterious woman Immortal to make Adam even more wary than he already was. Adam might even be careless enough to get killed; it was possible, in the state he was in, even after five thousand years. He wished he could do something to help, but even as a friend he had to stand aside this time; nothing he could do would heal that deep grief, when he couldn't heal his own losses.

And Mariellen, out following Amanda to somewhere in San Francisco - - another one for him to worry about. He wanted to call and find out how she was doing, but he hesitated, then shook his head. His mouth twisted into an unexpectedly bitter smile. "I interfere enough with Immortals as it is; should I start to interfere with mortals as well?" he told himself.

***

Nothing apparently happened that night. Joe didn't see any lightning storms appearing out of nowhere as he drove home; the phone stayed quiet. With any luck, Amanda was safe in San Francisco and Mariellen with her. Adam was alone somewhere, deciding what he should do, maybe even whether he should live any longer. Still, Duncan had been reassured about Amanda, which counted as one fewer loose cannon in whatever conflict would come. After so many years, Joe could almost smell them coming, and this one he knew would be a big one. It took a long time for him to get to sleep.

Mariellen showed up at her usual time the next evening, looking none the worse for her journey. She hung a long blue cloak in the closet and tied her bar apron over a crisp new shirt in some dark color that made her pale skin glow. "Amanda's on her way back. She was at the antique jewelry buyers' show at the San Francisco Convention Center, checking out something or other. She talked to a lot of people," she told Joe. "No problems, no other Immortals I could see."

"You missed all the excitement," he told her, and she tilted her head inquiringly. "Kundry the Defender was here looking for her; she thinks Amanda stole a necklace she values very much."

"Do you think she did? She is the world's best cat burglar."

Joe shook his head. "She seems to be enjoying this new job of hers. I doubt she'd risk jeopardizing it by taking anything right now. But it might be something she picked up legitimately any time in the past decade or two; Kundry said she'd traced it to a market in Alexandria, and Amanda has been there a couple of times in the past few years."

"I see." She swept her long hair back into a clip at the nape of her neck. "Will Adam be in tonight to work?"

"I don't know. He had some personal matters to take care of." Joe changed the subject. "You look very nice tonight. Is it a special occasion?"

Mariellen shook her head and gave Joe a private smile. "I got tired of the old clothes. They're from back when I was a poor student, and they look it. The raincoat doesn't even keep out the rain any more, and a cloak works much better." She picked up a bar mop and cleaned a table that looked a little sticky.

Arctic Blues warmed up a little early and moved into their first set right on time. The club filled with eager music lovers, enough to keep Joe and Mariellen busy without time to talk.

It wasn't until after 11 that Millie came in at a fast stride, scanned the club and stopped at the bar. "Joe. You're Amanda's friend, or so I hear. Please, tell me where she is." Her voice throbbed with urgency.

Joe looked directly into those aquamarine eyes. "I wish I could tell you. I don't know." For once, he could answer honestly, rather than hide behind Watcher ethics.

"Damn." She banged her fist on the bar; since it was during a long instrumental phrase nobody noticed it but Joe and Mariellen, who had come up to the bar to give him a drink order. "Kundry's looking for blood this time. She's sure Amanda has stolen some piece of ancient jewelry that was worn by Mary Magdalen or something, and she wants it back." The fist banged again. "She came at me in the alley behind the library, and tried to force me to tell her what I knew."

"She was here yesterday looking for Amanda," Joe said. "We didn't tell her anything either."

"Kundry told me that if Amanda doesn't meet her on Soldier's Bridge in an hour, she'll track her down and kill her without a challenge. She'd do it, too, believe me." Millie was shaking with anger. "If I can get there first I may be able to dissuade her -- but if you do see Amanda, don't let her go to Soldier's Bridge. She's not good enough to fight Kundry."

"Are you?" Mariellen asked.

Millie swirled, and green eyes met green eyes. "We won't know until I try, will we? I think I am." Mariellen nodded slowly. "Do you know where she is?" Millie challenged her.

"I know where she will be." Mariellen said quietly. Her eyes searched Joe's face for understanding.

"Take me to her. Maybe we can find a way out of this. If Kundry is not satisfied, she will stalk Amanda, kill her in her bed. I can't allow that to happen."

Mariellen untied her bar apron and dropped it down out of th customers' reach. She turned, but Joe put his hand on her arm, holding her back. "Aren't you choosing sides a little early?"

"Didn't you?" she retorted. "I can't stay out of this, Joe; it's something I have to do."

"For Amanda?"

Mariellen shook her head and pulled her arm away with more strength than Joe expected. "For my sister. Millie." She took the deep blue cloak from the closet and slung it around herself. Mariellen stopped on her way past the bar and put her hand on Joe's arm. "You should understand this, Joe. You've crossed this line for years. This isn't about Amanda; it's about Millie and me and promises we made each other long ago."

Mariellen's eyes flared a deep jade green in the light. Joe's heart missed a beat. "You're Immortal." Adam had been wrong; this woman hadn't been pre-Immortal for centuries. They'd been looking at it the wrong way; not dual personalities, but two persons, two Immortals sharing the strength of one weak buzz.

"Right again." She pressed his arm again, then released it to fasten her cloak securely around herself. "I think we'll have to talk after Soldier's Bridge." Her voice sounded richer than her usual breathy tones. Her hair flowed out of the hood, silver against the dark wool.

Green jade and silver, and the voice of a Stradivarius cello. He had to say it, he couldn't help himself.

"Emmy."

Three steps toward the door, she turned back at the sound of the one word. "Yes. I'll see you after Soldier's Bridge." With that one backward glance she followed Millie into the night. Joe held onto the bar to keep from falling over. If he had still had working knees, they would have been shaking. His world had turned upside down again, just as it had when Duncan MacLeod walked into the bookshop looking for him years earlier. Those whom the gods would destroy are first given the answers to their dreams, he thought.

After a moment, he made his way through the crowd to the kitchen. "Terry, would you close up now and help Mike at the bar? I have to go out." Terry nodded; it was nearly closing time anyway, and the crowd had been more thirsty than hungry all night.

He spoke to Mike on his way to the office to pick up his coat, and the small, powerful handgun he kept in his drawer. It had stopped Duncan from slaughtering Richie once; he hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but if it came to losing Emmy when he'd just found her, he'd do anything he needed to do.

This was one of those times he cursed the land mine that had taken his legs in Vietnam; he'd have given almost anything to be able to run again right now. Moving more slowly made him a target, made him have to think more about where he was going instead of blindly rushing out on instinct. He had no idea where Amanda was; Mariellen hadn't told him. He didn't even know if Adam knew of this latest challenge, or what he might do. He decided to drive his car to a block away from the bridge and walk the rest of the way. The movement might keep him from thinking about what he hoped he wouldn't see when he got there.

He went home first for just a moment to check the answering machine. No messages, from Amanda, Adam or anyone else. It was getting colder out; he shrugged himself into a heavier sweater and his long raincoat and headed out the door. The air carried the smoke of smoldering leaves and the spicy cinnamon fragrance of the poplar trees in the park across the street. He could still smell them most of the way to the bridge. At the start of the long steel span he paused to catch his breath; the bridge stretched across the river at one of its widest points, lit by few lights and full of shadows. From instinct, he kept to the side of the walkway nearest the heavy support girders, and away from the railing, walking in the shadows from one support to another until he found a niche in the girders about a third of the way across. From there he could see most of the length of the bridge, but he couldn't easily be seen by anyone else. He leaned into the cold metal niche and waited.

Someone stood in the shadows, near the center of the bridge, by the silhouette a woman with long legs and a short jacket. Kundry, not Amanda; this woman was smoking a cigarette, and he knew Amanda had given that up a few years ago.

He shivered in the wind blowing off the river. The damp cold went right through him on nights like this, and leaning on steel beams didn't help.

Footsteps in hard-heeled shoes -- several pairs of them -- advanced from the other end of the bridge, moving toward the center at a rapid walk along the paved highway. Joe held his breath, waiting to see who would show up.

First he saw Amanda, leading the pack; behind her were Millie and Mariellen, and behind them but closing fast were Duncan and Methos.

The figure in the shadows straightened, dropped the cigarette, ground it into the bridge deck with a toe and stepped into the light. "Is it not the custom that we fight alone? Why have you brought an army?"

"I didn't bring them," Amanda said with intense irritation. "When I heard what you wanted, I had to go back to my office first, and they found me there." She took a folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Kundry. "This is a copy of the assessment of the necklace, with the name of the person who brought it to me blacked out. See for yourself -- it's a fake, it's a copy from the Third or Fourth Century at the earliest." Amanda backed up out of sword range while Kundry surveyed the paper. "If you look at the bottom, I listed all the goldmarks and the other indicators that it was not genuine First Century gold. The chemical analysis, for one thing, shows that the gold came from Northern Europe, not from Palestine."

"Gold is gold," Kundry said, "is it not."

"Gold is gold, but trace elements differ, and the ones in northern gold are not the same as in southern gold. You know this from the color of the gold, and from non-destructive analysis." Amanda moved nervously in her low-heeled boots. Millie stood near her with her coat open, ready to grab for her sword. Methos stood farther back, panting as if he'd run a marathon, never taking his eyes off Amanda and Kundry. Mariellen stood with Methos, her hand on his arm, holding him back. Duncan's eyes were on Kundry, and he moved to his right to get around the crowd.

"I am not satisfied. Give me the name of the 'owner'; you have omitted it from this report. I want to know who this person is."

"No. The names of my clients are confidential." Amanda drew her longsword. "If you want to fight about it, go ahead. You won't get anywhere."

"You'll fight me first," MacLeod threatened. He had come up next to Amanda, katana at the ready.

"This is not your fight, MacLeod," Amanda said from the corner of her mouth. "It's not yours either." Methos shook off Mariellen's hand and strode forward. "You want to know who her client was? Me. I bought that necklace for the woman I loved, when she was dying. She thought it was beautiful, and I wanted to make her happy, so I bought it for her. She didn't take it off until the day I buried her." His voice choked with pain. "It's the only thing I have left of Alexa. If you want it that much, you will have to take it off my dead body."

"You were the one in the bar. I remember." Kundry's serpentine gaze focused on him. "I do not know you."

"But I know you, Kundry. When you rode with the Tuareg, long ago, before you ever heard of the Grail, we fought together. We both wore the blue veil. You were a woman of honor then -- have you changed so much?" His fierce anger burned in his face. He pulled the medallion out of his sweater to let it dangle on its chain on his chest. "Is an ounce of gold worth so many lives to you?"

Joe held his breath. His hands shook with cold, or fear, and he thrust them into his pockets and leaned further into the shadow of the beams for support.

Kundry hissed. "I know you now, Methos. I thought you were dead long ago."

"I still live." Methos had taken his broadsword from under his coat; now he flexed his wrist and the blade flashed under the streetlights. "What will it be, Kundry? If you defeat me, know that you will not leave this bridge alive. You can go now, or die. Your quest ends here."

"And which of you will defeat me if I take his head? None of you will stand against the power of Methos in me."

"I think you're too arrogant." A new voice, and Joe craned his neck to see who was speaking. Millie stepped forward. "I am older than any of you but one, and she is my sister. Touch any of my friends, and you will die here." Millie's cutlass was in her hand. Mariellen walked up to stand next to Methos, ahead of Millie, and casually pulled from her coat a longsword with a heavily chased hilt. She held the sword up to the light for Kundry to see.

"By the sword of Arthur Pendragon, I tell you that you have no claim here." Mariellen's voice was the voice of Joe's dreams, the voice of Emmy his lover, vibrant and strong and utterly compelling.

"By what right do you carry Arthur's sword?" Kundry stared at the worked gold hilt; the cabochon-cut jewels set into it glowed and flashed. She took two steps forward; everyone's swords came up against her except Mariellen's.

"By right of gift."

Kundry frowned. "Bedivere gave that sword back to the Lady of the Lake, so the stories say."

Mariellen nodded, a gracious and queenly motion unlike her usual gestures. "Yes."

Kundry dismissed the idea with one hand. "You are old, and perhaps powerful, but you cannot be the Lady of the Lake."

"No?" Mariellen sang something in a clear voice that went through Joe like a knife. He couldn't understand the words -- the language was far more ancient than any he'd ever studied -- but Kundry stumbled and almost fell under the assault of sound. "I sang that as we took Arthur to Avalon on his deathbed. And on her own deathbed, the Lady gave Caliburn to me to guard until Arthur returns. Do you still doubt me?"

"How can I doubt what I hear with my own ears?" Kundry snapped. "Yet I believe I will take what is -- mine." She had come too close to Methos, and her sword was long. She swung the tip of it up at his chest, hooking the medallion on its chain and snapping the chain. The thin circle of gold fell toward her outstretched hand.

Mariellen flicked her sword up and threw herself into a dancer's pirouette with the blade outstretched. Kundry's head hit the bridge at the same time as the medallion, and rolled so the dark eyes were looking right at it.

Joe shivered again. He watched, fascinated, as the mist rose from Kundry's form to hover in the air around the band of Immortals. It seemed to cut Mariellen out from the rest of them, encircling her in bands of fire as lightning crackled throughout the structure. He moved away from the metal support as blue sparks hit it; rather than stay on the sidelines any more, he wanted to be there, with his friends. But the wind that circled around the woman of flame kept him back, pushed all of them away. Duncan's arm went around Amanda, Methos held onto Millie as the wind blew, a hot dry wind of the desert that tasted of sand and loneliness. The lightning crackled again, arcing across the span of the bridge, showing the Immortals for the first time that Joe was there. The wind scorched his face as he walked closer; it felt like sunburn, like the fires of passion, like a furnace burning away the dross and leaving only the pure metal.

Mariellen sank to the deck of the bridge. The flames vanished and the wind blew out over the river and died. All that remained of Kundry was a little ash within burnt clothing. Millie broke loose from Methos's hold and rushed forward to support her. Joe made his way to them slowly, carefully, hoping that the woman Millie held would still be Emmy, or Mariellen, and not someone else.

Mariellen, almost limp in Millie's arms, drew a deep sobbing breath and opened her eyes. "It's been a long time," she said. "A very long time." She looked around at the others, at the faces filled with concern, and said, "It looks like my cover's blown."

"I think so." Millie helped her to stand, then crouched for a moment longer. When she rose, she walked to Methos. "This is yours, now and always." The medallion lay in her hand.

Methos put his sword away in his coat. He took the medallion on its broken chain and put it in his pocket, but kept her hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers. "You had no cause to step into danger for me, but I thank you for it."

"I had cause. You are my friend, and my sister's friend, and Amanda's friend. You of all people should remember that friendship is sacred." She pulled him into her arms for a brief embrace, then dropped her arms and stepped back.

"Your sister..." Methos looked stunned. He stared at Millie, then at Mariellen. There was no mistaking the resemblance now that they stood together, their hair flowing in the wind from the river. Duncan's face was awestruck as he looked at Mariellen, as if he'd found a goddess in his own back yard.

Amanda looked confused. "Why did you say your cover is blown? I thought you were a pre-Immortal."

Mariellen laughed, and small warm flames lit in Joe's heart. "Not for a very long time, almost as long as Millie." She pulled a small flashlight with an ultraviolet bulb out of her pocket, pushed back her sleeve and shone the light on her bare arm. The emblem of the Watchers showed clearly. "No, my dear, I was your Watcher. I guess I'll have to ask this man if I still am." Mariellen turned to Joe.

"There's no need for this, believe me." Methos spoke up quickly. "If you don't mind, I'll write up the report for this battle. I'm much better at lying than Joe is, probably better than you are. I've a hunch you spent too much time on holy ground to be in practice."

"You'd be surprised." Her laugh bubbled, and all at once they were simply a crowd of friends standing in the middle of a bridge on an October night.

"You're all invited back to my place, if you want," Duncan offered. "For some reason I'm not sleepy at all."

"I wonder why." Methos put a hand out to Millie, who took it. "I'll come for a little while." Millie nodded, her brilliant eyes on him. "Mariellen -- what should I call you now? Do you want to come with us? Joe?"

"Oh, I'm still Mariellen, the way you are still Adam Pierson." Mariellen took Joe's hand. "I have a previous engagement. I'm sure my sister will be able to tell you about herself and me."

Millie smiled at her, and the larger group went one direction, while Joe and Mariellen went the other. Duncan picked up Kundry's sword on the way past, to take back for the collection at the dojo.

***

Mariellen's hand felt cold to Joe; he tucked both their hands in the pocket of his coat as they walked. They walked through the silent streets like any couple going home after a late night.

"You know, I've got to ask a few things, just for my own curiosity. If you want I'll keep them out of the Chronicles; I'm not your Watcher."

"Ask what you will, Joe. Now that you've seen me as I am, I have few secrets."

He squeezed her hand, and she returned the pressure upon his. "Was that really Excalibur that you pulled out?"

She nodded. "Yes. The Celts called it Caliburn; it is the older name. To most people, it would appear to be a rather fancy Romano-Celtic sword, unless they could read the inscriptions on it. I can show it to you later. I was one of the Lady's priestesses, the only one that survived the changes of time. Wielding Caliburn gives me a measure of her authority, and that of Arthur; it is not something I can do lightly."

Joe looked down at the woman next to him. She looked like any other small blond woman in a long blue cloak. She didn't look as if she were twice as old as Methos.

"I'm having a little trouble reconciling all of this, I have to admit." He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "It's one thing to have a waitress who's a Watcher turn out to be an Immortal. That's not exactly common, but it's something within my comprehension. It's another to have that Immortal predate Methos by five thousand years. It's still another to have that same woman be the one who's been driving me crazy with those phone calls for the past four months."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Did you mind the phone calls? I wanted to get to know you before I came here; I knew I'd be working for you as a Watcher for longer than that. I read everything I could find that talked about you, listened in on conversations of other Watchers. I needed to know what kind of man you were and how far I could trust you if my secret became known."

"And thus, the first phone call. You could have stopped there. Why keep on? Why disguise your voice? Did you think that your being a Watcher and a waitress would keep me from wanting to know you?"

"Joe, I enjoyed those calls as much as you did. They showed me the Joseph Dawson the world doesn't see, and I cherished that contact." She cocked her head. "Actually, I thought you'd see through the voice almost immediately. I don't really have control over how it sounds; when I go into what I call 'Immortal mode' it becomes what you heard on the phone, and on the bridge tonight. I may be old as an Immortal, but I'm far from powerful."

"You took a real chance getting in front of Kundry like that." He pulled the handgun from his pocket. "This stopped MacLeod once, long enough to keep him from murder. I'm glad I didn't have to use it tonight out there -- I'd have a hell of a time explaining that to Watcher Central."

She touched the gun cautiously, and pulled her hand away. He dropped the weapon back into a deep pocket.

"It has been so long since anyone wanted to protect me from anything. Thank you." She raised her lips to meet his, and he put a strong arm around her. After the kiss, he held her tightly against himself.

"I didn't want to lose you so soon." His voice was rough with emotion.

"Joe, Caliburn is a greater protection than you can imagine. You see, once I brought it out and showed it to Kundry, that action invoked its more magical aspects. When this sword was forged, many blessings were forged into it, and a geas put upon it -- once the sword's name is spoken, once it's invoked in its ancient role of the weapon of Arthur, it cannot fail when it is used to defend what is right. It never failed him, and it has never failed me, though I've used it less in the last 1,600 years than Arthur used it in his brief lifetime." She looked up at him. "When she went toward Methos, I had to protect him. He's not that good a fighter, and I've known that from the start. But all I had to do was start the sword swinging, and trust it to do the rest."

"That's how you're still alive."

She nodded. "You can't get away with doing something like that very often in a preindustrial society. People notice. That's one reason I started to spend a lot of time on holy ground when the population began to rise in the Middle Ages." She put her hand back into his own, and they resumed walking.

When they entered Joe's house, and he hung up his coat, he hesitated before reaching for hers. She understood, and brought the sword out of the coat. "No sense in letting it slice up your closet," she said, handing it to him. It looked like a well- crafted sword, with cabochon stones set in the hilt and a great amethyst capping it. The writing inscribed on the blade was almost too faint for him to see, and it was in a script he didn't recognize.

"Some time when I'm more awake, would you translate that for me?"

"Sure." She brought the sword with her and laid it on the floor by the couch. "I don't anticipate using it again for another four hundred years, but it's good to have it handy."

"Emmy --" He stood looking at her, a smile curving his lips. "I know you've had something in mind, the last few times we spoke on the phone -- some idea of how it would be with us. Would you tell me what it was?"

She blushed just a little. "I wanted to make love to you blindfolded and not show you who I was until afterward."

He thought about it. "And if something went wrong you could leave and I still wouldn't be sure."

"Something like that. I don't think I need to do it now."

"Do you still want to?"

Her eyes flew to his face. He held a handkerchief out to her in his hand.

"You told me that when we finally got together, I could bring you home and we would do whatever I wanted, right?" he asked. She nodded slowly. "Then what I want is to find out what you wanted to do, and do it."

He sat down on the broad arm of the couch as she fastened the impromptu blindfold to cover his eyes. He touched her shoulder; they were much the same height now.

"Now what?" he asked.

She answered with a kiss, long and tender. Her hand reached inside his collar and caressed his neck, tracing a pattern of fire down his chest. Immortals were filled with the energy of a Quickening for days afterward, and often that energy was so strong it had to be expressed in sexual activity, he remembered from the texts he'd read. He shivered with anticipation.

"How about that shoulder rub," he managed to say, when he could catch his breath.

"We can do that. Let me help you get that sweater off." Somehow she managed to pull it over his head without removing the blindfold. She started to unbutton his shirt, slowly, kissing the spaces between the buttons, and he stopped her.

"Just because I can't see you doesn't mean I can't touch you, does it?" He raised a hand and felt soft silk on her ribs, her breasts. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingertips, then rested it on the first button in her blouse. As he unbuttoned the soft material she leaned forward to make it easier for him to kiss her, to raise her breasts to his lips and nibble gently at them. The gentle movement reminded him of the sound of water lapping under the bridge as he'd watched from the shadows, and his heart began to speed up.

They both had to pause a moment to deal with cuff buttons, but it was only a moment. "Do you still want that shoulder rub?"

"Yes. Or your backrub?"

"Later, for me. I think it might be easier in the bedroom, don't you? Which way is it?" She helped him balance as they walked in, handing him his cane and moving on ahead to open the door and keep him from tripping. It was odd how much more sensitive his skin felt when he couldn't see what was about to touch it. He flinched as a curtain brushed his arm, but she held him close. The touch of her warmth on his skin sent small flames rippling along his nerves.

Before they reached the bed, he was worried about how she would feel about the prostheses. She knew about them -- everyone knew he had them, it was no secret -- but to many women they weren't exactly erotic. He started to say something, but she hushed him gently with her hand and he waited, kissing her fingertips. She retrieved her hand and ran it lightly over his chest, just brushing the forest of dark hair.

"Would you rather sit up for your shoulder rub, or lie down? I can manage either way."

"Lying down is fine with me. Will my legs get in the way?" There, it was said.

"No, they'll be fine. You can take the prostheses off now if you want, or later. They won't bother me, if that's the question."

"That's the question. You've seen amputations before, I'd guess?" He felt her nod through the change in tension of her shoulder muscles and neck under his hand. "A lot of them over the centuries. At least in this age they're not always a death sentence, or something that keeps you from doing what you want."

Her voice was filled with sad memories. He called her back to the present by pulling her close to himself, holding her tight. Her hair was bound up on the back of her head in some kind of knot held by long sticks or pins; she didn't object when he pulled them out and tumbled her hair down on her shoulders and back. Soft and flowing, it fell nearly to her waist over his hands. He wanted to bury his face in it; it smelled of woodsmoke and ozone and woman.

She touched his back and his sides, moved her hands around to the front and down to his waistband. They waited there while she kissed him again, trailing kisses from his mouth down his neck and across his chest. When she reached one of his nipples and brushed it lightly with her tongue, she unsnapped the waistband and unzipped the pants. He gasped. She didn't touch him again while she pulled them down and off. He heard an unmistakable tearing noise, and knew that she was undoing the Velcro fasteners on his prostheses; he shifted his weight to help her. After they were gone from his legs, he felt her fingers examining the ends of the stumps, and her lips kissing the scars, and the fire went through him into the bone and left him shaking.

On the way back up her fingertips just brushed the pouch at the front of his shorts, and it filled and leaned into her hand. He could feel her hand cupping him as warmth, and a little pressure, and his breath caught. When she tipped the elastic waistband just a little and touched her tongue to the top of his penis, he felt the small touch echo throughout his body.

"I thought -- you said something -- about a backrub."

"You're right. I just didn't want anything to feel neglected."

She licked a little. He quivered.

"That's not -- too likely." He pushed the shorts down, and she pulled them off. She returned her gentle attentions to him; he felt every touch echo throughout his body.

After she stopped, when he could breathe again, he rolled over to lie on his stomach. It was a little uncomfortable; he had become so hard from her touch that it almost hurt to lie on it. He sensed her moving a little beside the bed. The mattress groaned as she sat down next to him.

"Sorry about the noise," he said, gesturing at the bed. "It usually only has to support me." "Will that bother you? The noise?"

"Emmy, love, that's why I bought a house instead of an apartment. It won't bother me a bit."

Her hand caressed his back, starting at his shoulders and moving downward. "Would you mind if I got up on top of you? It's a better way to do a shoulder rub than from here."

"Not as long as I can reciprocate later," he whispered. He heard her draw a deep breath, then felt the bed shift as she came up onto it all the way. It was a creaky old bed, it broadcast their every move. She knelt, one knee on either side of him, and lowered herself until she was almost touching him. He could feel the heat of her body there, that was all. He drew in a breath himself, let it out slowly. "You can sit down if you want; my back's strong."

"I know. You carry everyone's burdens. Put them down tonight."

Both her hands were on his shoulders, kneading and rubbing, pushing away the dark fears he'd had on the bridge and the anxiety before that. They moved strongly until his muscles loosened, then worked in lighter, smaller ways up and down his spine. The further down she went, the more she leaned back until she did sit down on him -- and he realized she was wearing nothing at all. The touch of the hair between her thighs tickled him a little, but the warmth and dampness within it excited him. It was getting harder for him to lie still.

He must have winced a little, because she gave a small chuckle and lifted herself off him. "All right, you can roll over now, but you still can't look at me."

"How am I supposed to practice my observation skills as a Watcher when you won't let me watch?" He rolled over between her legs, propping himself on one elbow. She put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.

"You'll just have to use other means of perception." She was over him again, and her heat was driving him crazy. She took his hand and guided it to her depths, then back toward his face. "Other senses. Smell." He captured the hand that held his own, and kissed it, licking her fingers. "Taste." Her voice was unsteady. "Touch." She lowered herself upon him. All he could feel was her warmth, her wetness, her tenderness. She moved slowly, surely, and he reached for her hips to hold her to himself and pulled her closer so he could kiss those breasts, those lips, and wrap his arms around this woman who was wrapping herself around him in every way he'd ever dreamed. Their rhythm rose in a crescendo; he could swear he saw a Quickening of his own behind his eyelids as they came, lightning and thunder, impossible to tell who was first. He held her close, not sure which of their hearts was beating so quickly; he couldn't find a sensation that might mark a borderline between their bodies. As they came back to themselves, she slid off to lie beside him. He turned his head on the pillow and kissed her gently.

"It's time," she said. She untied the blindfold and took it away.

When he opened his eyes he saw a woman he didn't know. Her eyes were jade green and her hair flowed silver over her shoulders and onto his chest.

"Milia? Emmy?"

She nodded. "Wait a few minutes."

He lay and watched her in the light from the bedside lamp she must have turned on earlier, he didn't know when. As their breathing normalized and the flush of lovemaking subsided he saw her eyes change, the color growing paler than peridots.

Mariellen's eyes returned to their pale color, but the expression in them, fierce and sweet, definitely belonged to his Emmy. He leaned close to kiss her and gather her into his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked. "You could have said something."

She sighed. "I'm not a strong enough Immortal to play the Game. We are twins, Millie and I; she got most of the aggression, almost all the adventurousness; I have only what will keep me alive over time, if I'm careful. She was brought up by the tribe that found us, died young in battle, and was reborn; I was given to the Goddess of the holy places as a child, and lived most of my mortal life there, until the tribes moved and we were forced out by war. When I died the first time I was reckoned a middle-aged woman, though that age is still youth today. Millie found me and taught me how to live after I was reborn; she told me I might be safer passing as a normal human than living the life she lived, as I was not very strong physically."

"Methos thought you're a pre-Immortal, as Amanda did."

She nodded. "I have very little of the song that tells others what I am. That's why my sister said I could pass as mortal and be undiscovered. Since then I've lived as a mortal, on holy ground, or as a scholar, or a well-protected woman of wealth -- well, that was when wealth meant privacy. I would never survive the conflict of the Game otherwise." She gave a small private smile. "I've always tried to keep my swordfighting skills up. They come in handy sometimes. I've never sought a fight, but if I must come to it I win, and then disappear." He touched her cheek. "Of course, you carry an excellent sword."

She nodded. "Yes, but I can't expect it to protect me if I don't bring it out to play regularly. I was worried that if you had to put it into the Chronicles, I'd have to disappear again, and I don't want to do that." Her fingers strayed across his chest, and he shivered at her touch and kissed her again. "I like working at the club. I like teasing that young Adam Pierson or whatever he's calling himself this century; he plays our game with spirit and honor, that one, and I think I can trust him to keep my secrets -- since they are the same as his own." She kissed his cheek and his ear and his lips. "I like phoning you late at night and driving you wild."

She looked at him steadily. The small smile he knew from the club curved on her lips.

"So your Immortal side -- Milia, if you will -- only shows up when you feel passionate about something or someone." He ran his hand through her silver-blonde hair. "Am I right?" She nodded. "Why didn't you just come to me as her one night, instead of waiting so long?"

She looked away from his face. Her voice was as quiet as it had been in the office that first day he'd met her, when he'd thought her a colorless wallflower. "I wanted to give you the chance to make up your own mind. If all I'd done was pleasure you without touching your heart, I wanted you to be free of me." Her voice held centuries of experience, not all of it pleasant. "I've read your records, even some of the ones that aren't common knowledge. I didn't want you to get into more trouble than you've already had, for loving an Immortal. It wouldn't have been fair to you to deny you the choice."

"All right, I'm choosing." He kissed her deeply and held her close. "I choose you -- both of you. The Watcher and the Immortal." He ran a hand down her back, feeling the little nubbles of her spine all the way to her sacrum, and rested his hand at the end of it. "Tell Milia I'd like to see her again. It's still my turn."

***

Methos walked into the club several days later, looking younger than Joe had ever seen him. His step bounced a little; he had the medallion on a new chain around his neck, and he brought with him Millie the pirate.

"You're looking good, Adam. Beer?"

"Of course. And a Jameson's for Millie." Adam held her hand as if he were afraid she would vanish if he let go. Millie's eyes glowed, and she smiled more easily than Joe had noticed before.

"How are you doing these days?" Joe didn't want to just ask outright, but he'd been so concerned about Methos's emotional state that he'd considered phoning him at home, something he seldom tried to do because of the Immortal's preference for privacy.

"Much better. It seems this medallion is a catalyst for more kinds of healing than just the physical." He pulled the chain over his head and set the necklace on the counter where they all could see it.

Millie touched the shining gold disk. "You see these faint markings on the edge -- out along the rim?" Joe nodded; they were very faint. "They're too worn to read now, but they were very important to the medal when it was struck."

"Oh? What do they say?" Joe put the drinks on the bar to the side of the gold.

Millie spoke in a language he didn't recognize, then translated. "For the grace of a good death."

"A good death?"

"A death without pain." Adam raised his eyes from the necklace to Joe's face. "Whatever else happened to Alexa, when she died she wasn't in pain. She was calm, a little curious, sad at leaving me. But she died free of pain, in my arms. I think she'd say that was a good death, even if it did come fifty years too soon." He paused. "So, the medallion did bring healing, just not what I wanted."

"It's brought about another kind of healing too, I think." Joe looked from Methos to Millie. Methos let out a long-held sigh, and smiled with an ease Joe hadn't seen in years.

"You're right, Joe. You're getting as bad as MacLeod." Methos smiled at Millie, who slipped an arm around him and kissed his cheek. He picked up the necklace, put it on again and tucked the medallion inside his collar. "It doesn't hurt to think of Alexa any more, and I can almost hear her telling me to be happy, telling me not to miss a single day of living."

"It should not have taken five thousand years for you to learn that," Millie commented, "but as long as you have finally learned it, let's go out and celebrate this day. Joe, we're going to the International festival at this little Greek place that has wonderful souvlaki."

Mariellen chose that moment to walk out of Joe's office, where she'd been sorting and auditing the cash register receipts and bar tabs. "I thought I heard voices I knew." She smiled at Methos, walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek, then turned to her sister and hugged her.

"It's so good to be able to do this again." Millie's eyes were glowing as she held Mariellen. "Next time you decide to disappear for a few centuries, would you give me the forwarding address?"

"I tried, Mil, I tried. It's really hard to get postage delivered to the Spanish Main, especially when you're not in port very often." Mariellen leaned back against the bar and turned to Joe. "I've balanced the receipts, and the kitchen is ready for later. All that has to be done is to turn on the heat under the food."

"You know, if you keep on being this efficient we'll actually start to make a profit. I think that's too much to deal with today." Joe chuckled. "Do you like Greek food, Emmy? There's a festival a few blocks away, and we're invited to join the party."

"Let's see, I haven't had good Greek food since the siege of Athens." Mariellen smiled at him.

"Oh, that goat stew was awful! How can you say it was good?" Millie stared at her as if her head had just sprouted feathers.

"It was a whole lot better than the octopus pie at that terrible villa in Capri."

"Enough," Adam cut in. "Rather than reviewing Bad Meals of the Centuries, how about if we go have a good one?"

"All right," Mariellen said, her eyes solemn, "but you're going to have to put up with us analyzing the sauce and figuring out how to make it ourselves, and we'll probably practice on you two."

"I can hardly wait," Joe said. He grabbed his coat and Mariellen's cloak, and the four friends headed out into the sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> Grania O'Malley was the Irish pirate queen who waged war against Elizabeth I of England successfully for many years. Anne Bonney was a pirate of the Caribbean. Kundry has always been associated with the darker sides of Arthurian legend. Caliburn is itself and not my own. As always, all music lyrics printed in the stories are my own; please talk to me first if you want to set my lyrics to music other than the lovely imaginary music Joe Dawson has already written.


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